Thicker Than Blood
by MissusWitch
Summary: Prejudice runs rampant in a world even without Lord Voldemort, but when a Potter boy is sorted into the House of Slytherin, the next generation is set to change forever. This is the story of Albus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy, and how their friendship guided each other in times of love and strife. AL/OC, SM/RW
1. Introduction Part 1: Albus Potter

**Introduction Part 1: Albus Potter**

**This story has been in my head for awhile and I finally decided to put it down to pen and paper. Please be gentle.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**AAA. **

From a very young age, Albus Potter had known that he was different from the rest of his family.

There had been many signs, starting from the moment that he was born. While his older brother James and younger sister Lily had been conceived without the slightest imperfection, his parents had struggled in vain to cope with the various magical maladies that had afflicted him as an infant. He had spent the first six months of his life at St. Mungo's, constantly prodded by mediwizards and mediwitches as mysterious illnesses battered his young body. It came much as a relief to everyone when Albus procured a miraculous recovery and celebrated his first birthday.

In his early years, he seemed to be like all the other Potter/Weasley offspring: red-headed (with the exception of James), freckled, and a tendency to eat their weight's amount. He chased House-elves, practiced small pieces of child's magic, and grew to love Quidditch. When his younger sister Lily was born, he and his brother lovingly made room for her as Weasley children were used to doing, though it was he that took the time to accompany her while James was off gallivanting with the older children of the family.

Then, the differences started to show.

While his siblings grew to be bold and outspoken, Albus was polite and reserved, too shy to ask for anything beyond what he needed. He possessed a raw tenderness that was so very often exploited by his older brother. He was even bullied by Lily because he was too sweet to refuse her demands. While the other children gasped in excitement when Uncle Ron told the heroic stories of how their parents had fought in the Wars, it was Albus who would notice his father st anding idly by the corner, haunted by undisclosed expressions of loss and hardship. For these reasons, he secretly became his mother's favorite child, though Ginny Potter would never admit it.

When the entire Weasley family gathered for Christmases and New Years, Albus was always content to sit shyly in the corner, watching his cousins flock around James to listen to his brother's entertaining stories. That was his position in the family: a genuinely sweet boy who was genuinely liked by all, but not really the life of the party. Out of all the members of the tightly-knit Weasley Clan, he grew closest to Rose, who was also outspoken but in her own rational way. She seemed to underst and him better than anyone.

Of course, Albus had to undergo the same privileges and trials that all Potter-Weasley children did. They were the offspring of Wizarding heroes, and were treated like such. Albus had never gone anywhere without being greeted by smiles from adult strangers. Many times he had been offered sweets and small tokens for doing nothing but having simply been recognized as a member of his revered family, though his mother constantly warned him not to accept them.

And rightly so. For along with the procession of fans and curious onlookers that often seemed to pass by the Potter Mansion, there came the occasional Death-Eater supporter or pure-blood manic who swore to avenge the demise of the Dark Lord. These threats were often suppressed quickly by Ministry security, but it did not do well for Mr. and Mrs. Potter's nerves. All they could do was remind their children day by day to draw as little attention to themselves as possible, be respectful to others, and to always exercise caution.

It was no surprise then-given the shyness of his nature and the careful way that he'd been raised—that Albus did not make a lot of friends outside his family. Of course, there were the Longbottoms, the Lovegoods, as well as Mr. Thomas and his son, Rowan, but nevertheless, Albus had always considered them a part of the 'Potter circle' from which his early childhood years could never be detached from. That did not mean he was lonely; he always had plenty of cousins to play around with.

The first time Albus could recall having met someone that had been outside the circle of heroes was when he was nine years old. His brother James and their cousin Fred had just received their letters to Hogwarts, and his parents had agreed to allow Albus and Rose to tag along with them to Diagon Alley.

It was been a bright summer day. Albus had wanted to accompany his brother in getting his first wand, but James had refused to let him come along. As he watched James disappear into Ollivander's, he chose that moment to feel utterly resentful that once more his brother was getting everything he'd always wanted, until Rose pointed out:

"Cheer up. Let's go visit Uncle George at Weasley Wizard's Wheezes. It's right down the road! Can we, Uncle Harry?"

Harry Potter looked at his wife, who was already in the store eyeing James and Fred with a beady eye, said: "Why not? But stay put, or your mother and I won't be able to find you."

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was instantly recognizable by its vividly colored exterior and spinning doors. Right outside was a life-sized statue of what looked like Uncle George, but what was actually a memorial for their deceased Uncle Fred. From the windows, they could see the shop jam-packed with children tugging at the sleeves of their parents, pointing to this and that.

Oddly enough, Albus noticed that there was one boy standing outside the store, his hand pressed up against the window, indicating that he dearly longed to be inside.

The boy's hair was a very pale blond, so blond it was almost silver, and slicked back in smooth tendrils over his scalp. His skin was very pale, as though he had never been outside for a long period of time. It contrasted sharply against his black robes, which were very elegant but looked as if they'd been worn many, many times.

When he noticed Albus and Rose staring expectantly at him, he leaped back and instantly wore an indomitable sneer.

"What are you looking at?"

Albus wasn't quite sure how to respond. He had never met someone so aggressive in his life. Rose decided to take charge.

"Well, aren't you going inside?" she demanded, equally aggressive.

"And why would I? It's a _joke-shop_. It's full of childish rubbish," said the boy with a derisive curl of his lip.

"Excuse me. My uncle owns that store, and that was very rude of you," snapped Rose.

"Your uncle-" The boy stopped, and a familiar look of recognition flooded his face. "Oh, you're them, aren't you? Red hair, freckles…you're the Potter children."

Albus cleared his throat and said hoarsely: "Just me."

The boy eyed him from head to toe, his smile fading. Suddenly, his arrogant, superior expression was replaced with a look of something so sharp and hateful that Albus could not help but feel startled.

"Well aren't you a piece of work. Bit ugly for a Potter, aren't you?"

Albus turned bright red, and was about to open his mouth when Rose stepped in: "Don't mind him, Al. His parents probably didn't raise him right."

The boy's face darkened as though a shutter had fallen across it. He stepped menacingly forward, clenching his pale bony hands into fists. "Don't you go calling my parents any names."

Rose raised her chin. "Well I don't know about you, but if I were your parents, I would have taught you to be respectful to people, especially towards the heroes of the Wizarding World."

"Rose," muttered Albus.

"And if I were _your_ parents," countered the boy, stepping in closer, his eyes glittering, "I would have told you to shut your mouth, you filthy-"

"Scorpius," said an elder man's voice sternly, and a shadow fell over the three of them. The boy's face flashed momentarily in fright, as though he'd been caught red-handed.

Albus turned and saw a man who looked like an identical, older version of the boy, with similar pale-blond hair and pale skin. His eyes were bright silver, lined with deep purple eye circles that paralleled the world-weary wrinkles lining his face.

"Father," mumbled the boy whose name was Scorpius.

"What are you doing, standing outside the joke-shop?" snapped his father, "How many times have we told you not to run off, and especially not to run off to this particular store? Come along. Your mother's getting her robes done at Madam Malkin's, and then we're going home straightaway."

He noticed Albus and Rose standing there, and inclined his head in a submissive manner. "I apologize if my son was rude to you. He is a very troubled boy."

Albus shook his head and said quickly, "No trouble at all, sir." Rose grunted beside him, indicating she felt otherwise.

"Draco Malfoy? Is that you?" Albus heard the familiar sound of his father's voice, and felt slightly relieved that his parents were here to alleviate the situation.

But the arrival of Harry Potter seemed to have the opposite affect. The atmosphere instantly tensed up. The silver-haired man's entire body stiffened as though he'd been hit with a Petrifying curse.

"Hello, Mr. Potter," he said in extremely clipped tones, acknowledging Harry's presence with a nod of his head. "And Mrs. Potter," he added when Ginny appeared behind Harry's shoulder, towing along two happy-looking boys carrying wand cases. "It has been awhile."

"How are you doing, Draco?" asked Ginny politely, her voice containing only the slightest strain.

"Very well," replied the silver-haired man unconvincingly. "I was just picking up my son to meet Livia at Madam Malkin's. We'll be no trouble at all."

"No, of course not," said Harry, and Albus saw the corner of his father's mouth turn down as though he'd seen something that was deeply perturbing, "I was wondering, perhaps-if you and your wife don't mind-we could sit down and have a cup of tea? It is awfully coincidental that we bumped into you at Diagon Alley-"

"No, no," interrupted the silver-haired man hastily, and his mouth twisted into a grimace. "It's getting late, and we'd best be going. This isn't a place that we're…very much welcomed…" his eyes twitched towards the bustling joke-shop, as though he expected Uncle George to come bursting out of it any moment.

The boy Scorpius lowered his head at these words, glancing furtively at the joke-store with a mixture of anger and wistfulness.

Ginny noticed this and stepped forward tentatively. "Your son seems as though he very much wants to go inside. If you wanted, I could talk to my brother, if you'd like…I'm sure he'd make an exception-"

"No, no," repeated the silver-haired man with more force, and he shoved his son away from the store, ushering him down the street. "We really must be getting on our way. Wouldn't want to make any trouble at all, would we, Scorpius? It was pleasant seeing you again." He added the last line as an afterthought, though it was very clear that he had not found the encounter pleasant at all.

Albus stared after the pale-skinned father and son, confused by what he'd just seen. For a fraction of a second, the boy's head swiveled back and met his gaze defiantly with deep, startlingly blue eyes. Then, he turned away and disappeared from view behind his father's billowing black cloak.

All in all, it was a very odd encounter. Later, after the Potters had dropped Rose off at Ron's house and were settling around the living room, Albus dared to venture the question:

"Who were those people we met at Uncle George's shop, dad?"

Harry had been sitting on his favorite armchair, holding a worn copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ and staring absent-mindedly into the distance. At the sound of his son's voice, he returned from his reverie and looked at his son with a smile.

"Old acquaintances. The Malfoys."

James, who had been proudly brandishing his new wand in front of Lily, stopped what he was doing to join the conversation: "The _Malfoys_? What the bloody hell were they doing outside Uncle George's shop?"

"Language, James," warned Ginny, looking up from her book.

"I'm just saying, mum. Uncle George doesn't want them there, so they should've stayed away, don't you think?"

"But why?" inquired Albus curiously. Uncle George was one of the most good-natured people he'd ever met. It was hard to imagine him being even remotely harsh to anyone.

Harry sighed, and took off his glasses for a quick polish. "The Malfoys were known as a very old, pure-blood family and as such was the nature back then, they became strong supporters of Lord Voldemort and what he was trying to accomplish." The three children nodded. They were familiar with this aspect of the story. "That man you saw—Draco Malfoy—was a schoolmate of mine at Hogwarts, and he became a Death-Eater by the age of sixteen. Of course, you must understand," and here he paused to give his children a stern look. "He didn't have much of a choice. Voldemort was a very frightening person, but I think what was even more frightening for Draco was the prospect of failure in front of his father. I believe that he wanted to the war to end as much as the rest of us, and to his credit, he's been living a good honest life since it did. The problem is, there are many people who still believe the Malfoys have Death-Eater ties and that is why they cannot walk the streets easily, even wander into a joke-shop." Harry smiled wryly. "For those who have suffered losses at the hands of Voldemort, it can be easy to imagine why people would be so quick to blame families like the Malfoys for everything that's happened."

"So is that why Uncle George reacted that way?" asked Albus quietly, "Because of what happened to Uncle Fred?"

"Not only your Uncle George, but quite a few others." Harry let out a contemplative sigh. "It must be a very difficult life they lead. Your mother and I have tried to—well, let's just say that Draco Malfoy has a great deal of pride and isn't the sort to accept any sort of help."

James made a loud derisive sound and muttered under his breath.

Harry seemed to understand James' emotions. He knelt down beside his eldest son, gazed at him sternly with probing green eyes, and said: "James. I want you to listen to me. No matter how much your friends at Hogwarts goad you into thinking the Slytherin house is full of scum, you can't listen to them. It's true that Slytherin has been guilty of crimes in the past, but it is not a house of evil. There's been enough prejudice in the Wizarding world, you hear me? I don't want you treating anyone differently from how you would treat your family."

James sighed, ruffling his jet-black hair as he always did whenever he was trying to wave off a serious comment. "Dad, I doubt I'll be making any Slytherin friends soon."

"And what if you're sorted into Slytherin?"

James eyes darkened. "I'd rather be sent home." And with that, he took his newly purchased wand and marched up the stairs into his bedroom without further discussion.

It was this particular recollection to which Albus would carry for the next two years before his own entry to Hogwarts. He would remember the look of disgust on his brother's face when his father had even mentioned the idea of him being sorted into Slytherin. He'd recall the aura of fear and apprehension that had shadowed the Malfoys like a black cloud on the day that he'd spotted them outside the his uncle's store. He'd see the longing on Scorpius Malfoy's face as he peered into the joke-shop, forever barred from a life of acceptance, and the cold rattle of apprehension would press against Albus' ribcage.

He knew the Potter-Weasley children had a long history of being Gryffindors. In fact, James and Fred were the most recent ones to join the fray, and he had no doubt that Rose would soon become another addition. This realization made him all the more desperate to be in Gryffindor, although he knew—he just _knew_, with a deep intuition that extended far beyond reason-that something else was held in store for him. His conviction was simply based on a long-held belief that he was different from the rest of the Potters, though he himself could not explain why.

And so, on the morning of King's Cross just as he was about to board the Hogwarts Express, Albus turned to his father for comfort, asking the one question that had plagued his mind since that day in Diagon Alley.

His father's reply continued to echo long after the train had left the station: "_Albus Severus, you were named after two great wizards. One of them was a Slytherin, and he was the bravest man I'd ever met._"

But like many children of Albus' age, he was simply impervious to parental advice. While it had been useful in providing quick relief, it could not keep the apprehension at bay.

When he entered the great Banquet hall with the other first-years, with Rose clutching his hand in pure excitement, he felt as if his stomach was performing somersaults . He stumbled clumsily past by his applauding Gryffindor relatives, who winked and flipped their thumbs at him for encouragement, and hoped from the deep wells of his heart that he would not disappoint them.

As the Sorting began, he took note of the first-years that had been sorted into Slytherin. Avery…Nott…Mulciber…Malfoy…it seemed as though history was repeating itself. A small hope began to rise within him. Surely, if the sorting was based on familial ties—as it seemed to be doing just then—it would put him with his brother and cousins, right?

Then, suddenly it was_ his_ name being called out, and he was pushed up on stage on tottering heels. He found himself sinking into the dusty blackness of the Sorting Hat, his heart hammering in his chest. There was no voice, no choice offered to him as his father had promised, just a deep panic that was escalating in the back of his mind.

But why was he panicking? Because he wanted to be sorted properly, of course, the obvious choice being Gryffindor, with the rest of them, surrounded by James and Rose…and yet…

An unbidden thought entered his mind. Did that truly mean he would be sorted properly, or was that simply the place where he wanted to be because he had never experienced anything else? He'd known from a very young age he didn't truly carry the complete makings of a Potter. He had always felt slightly altered from the Potter genetic chain, capable of being different, capable of bringing _change_…Suddenly, he realized the growing panic in his brain was not panic at all…it was a gnawing, desperate desire…a desire that had been waiting for him to find it…and now he had.

He _wanted_ to be different, to stand out from the rest of them, not to be forever overlooked in the house of Potters, surrounded by so many other cousins, all of whom would carry on the same traditions… because perhaps the real challenge in life was to be the one to create a new legacy…and now he knew: this wasn't bravery or intelligence or kindness, it was ambition, a burning ambition that seemed to trump all else-

The Sorting Hat opened its wide brim and roared: "SLYTHERIN!" 

**AAA. **

**Reviews appreciated! **

**Love, **

**Missuswitch**


	2. Introduction Part 2: Scorpius Malfoy

When Scorpius Malfoy was a young boy, his most prized possession was a baby dragon. His mother, Livia, who had accidentally mistaken a dragon's egg for a large golden centerpiece when she'd purchased it from a passing peddler, had given it to him for his fifth birthday.

Scorpius adored that dragon. He loved to watch its translucent blue scales change color under the various lights of the day. He loved watching it maul the strips of meat that he fed through its iron cage. Most of all, though, he loved the way the dragon seemed to adore him just as much as he did.

For Scorpius, love was a fickle thing. Though he was certain his parents loved him to some degree, it was difficult for him to evaluate how much exactly. He sometimes felt forgotten and neglected, as if he were some object that had been misplaced around the mansion. He sometimes could not figure out whether even his parents loved one another. Draco and Livia Malfoy had a long history of having terrible quarrels, quarrels that sometimes led to violent scuffles and even hexes gone astray. These disagreements were never quite enough to break them apart, but they contributed to the constant undercurrent of tension that lay beneath the Malfoy household. To make matters worse, Scorpius had no other brothers or sisters to keep him company. One child, it seemed, had already been plenty enough for his parents.

For this reason, Scorpius was always on the lookout for new people to associate himself with. When other children came to visit the Malfoy Manor—the Notts, the Zabinis—he always presented with an air of cool composure, though secretly yearning for their acceptance. He discovered then that he had a natural ability to win people over. The other children flocked to him as if he were their leader. They found his superior pose daunting enough to respect him, but his wit sharp enough to admire him. They became his friends. Nevertheless, Scorpius often found these friendships unsatisfying, for they seemed to be lacking any sort of loyal stability. There was no _love_ between him and his friends, just a sense of mutual understanding.

The dragon was his source of love. When he was sick, the dragon kept him warm by swallowing coals and curling beside him in bed. When he was frightened of the various magical beasts that occasionally appeared in the broom cupboards and stairwells, the dragon would snap its jaws and chase them away. In return, Scorpius nurtured it as he had never done for anyone else. On the day that Scorpius mounted his first broom, he taught his dragon how to fly. He watched in exuberance as it expanded its gleaming wings and soared under the sunset for the first time. Time passed like this for his early childhood years. Scorpius rarely left his family's estate. He did not see much of the outside world. For him, the universe he lived in was just enough.

Then, on his 8th birthday, Ministry officials came knocking at his door. They had heard rumors from the neighbors of dark objects still existing in the Malfoy Manor. They combed the place from head-to-toe, stripping the walls of anything they found suspicious. Priceless artefacts, ancestral belongings, beautiful antique furniture; nothing escaped their eyes. It wasn't long before they found the dragon, which the boy had concealed beneath the floorboards of his room. Scorpius watched in rage and horror as they thrust the dragon into its iron cage and hauled it over their shoulders. The only thing they allowed him to keep was its collar, a beautiful leather thing that Scorpius himself had inscribed the dragon's name on.

That night was the first time that his parents mentioned divorce. Scorpius, too haunted to fall asleep, pressed his air against the floorboards and listened as they fought.

His mother screamed:

"_I should have never married a Death-Eater! Gone, all gone! My mother's jewels, my own inheritance, confiscated by the Ministry all because everyone thinks this family is evil to the bone!" _

Then his father's reply:

"_What do you want me to do? I've bloody well tried everything. I've got decent employment. We've still got plenty of money left, we'll just buy our things back-"_

"_This isn't about the fucking money, Draco! That money is tainted, don't you see? What do you think people see when they look at us walking around in our fancy dress robes? They think the Dark Lord himself handed to us that money. For Merlin's sake, they'll always remember you as the boy who almost killed Albus Dumbledore!" _

"_I'm sick and tired of you bringing up the past! You weren't there, Livia, you left the bloody country. You had no idea what it was like for the rest of us who stayed." _

"_Well look who's paying for it now? Your son doesn't have any friends who aren't the children of former Death-Eaters. He's practically lived his life in this Manor because Merlin knows what will happen to him if he was allowed to walk the streets alone!"_

At this point Scorpius had shrunk away from the conversation, unable to hear anymore. He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, contemplating the implications of his parents' words. Up until now, he had never fully realized the gravity of his father's actions in the past. His parents had given him the fundamentals of Draco Malfoy's part in the war, but they seemed to be so ashamed of what had happened that they would only divulge little snippets at a time.

Of course, Scorpius had grown up hearing about the stories of the war himself, and through various media, he was kept well-informed along with the rest of the Wizarding world on the latest news of the country's national heroes: Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. It was impossible not to. Newspapers, radio stations, and tabloids were constantly jabbering about some event related to the Potter-Weasley family (celebrating the birth of another child, as was so often the case). Not to mention the endless procession of Harry Potter biographies which were released every so often, with each new account more action-packed than the last and some containing such absurd detail that they were unlikely to be true (for instance, Scorpius highly doubted that Harry Potter had nearly blown up his Muggle aunt). Nevertheless, despite the copious amounts of information Scorpius had access to, he had never once found an extensive report on Draco Malfoy. What information he had gleaned on his father was either extremely nasty or intentionally vague in order to avoid controversy. It was quite frustrating, and confusing, for a boy his age to see such prejudice against his home and not know why.

Oddly enough, Scorpius couldn't bring himself to feel resentful towards his father. His anger was directed at the strangers who pointed their fingers at him when they passed, the ones who eyed his fine clothes with disdain and muttered darkly to their children. It was them that he held responsible for the Ministry seizing his possessions and the dysfunctional state of his family. In his opinion, it was unjustified. Society was unjustified.

As a result, Scorpius grew to be extremely proud of his family name. His reasoning was that if he were to be ostracized for being a Malfoy, he wouldn't give people the satisfaction of putting his name down. Instead, he began to adopt a new strut and aptitude for flaunting the family fortune. It was astonishing to see how such a young boy could be so impeccably dressed in the finest quality robes, not a hair out of place. In addition, his speech had also begun taking on a lazy drawl, which gave the impression that he saw himself superior to everyone else.

Inevitably, this attitude led to the development of a rather nasty rebellious streak. Scorpius was always resolute in having the last word. He was dreadfully stubborn and outspoken, to the point where he could've insulted the Minister of Magic's mother without batting an eyelash. Even Livia was sometimes so exasperated that she had to lock herself in her bedroom to prevent herself from doing anything drastic. There was no doubt that Scorpius had a talent. His words could provoke the most even-tempered of adults, and yet they held such a clever combination of logic and wit that it was sometimes impossible not to agree with him.

But that did not always work in his favor.

It happened on the day that he first met the Potters. He could remember standing outside Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, feeling a surge of mingled bitterness and envy towards the children in the store. He had never been inside a joke shop, or rather, any shop whose sole purpose was to provide entertainment. But there he was, battling the urge to step inside, remembering the previous time when the store-owner himself—a redheaded, lanky-looking git—had prevented him and his mother from doing so after charging out and furiously shouting: "_No Death-Eaters Allowed!_".

That's when he noticed the boy and the girl staring at him.

The girl captured his attention first. She was a redhead, though her hair was a color that he'd never seen before—an unusual cross between gold and crimson. She was the image of juvenile, with the odd sprinkling of freckles and plain round face, but the moment she spoke—_"Well aren't you going inside?"_—he saw a strong and resolute maturity behind her voice that indicated her mindset was as less of a child's as he was.

He did not think much of the boy until he identified himself as Harry Potter's son. That was when he looked at Albus Potter as though he might've looked at a mirror depicting an alternate universe.

He took note of the quiet, unassuming boy—the way his reddish brown hair hung messily over his face, the way his thin and lanky body stood so awkwardly to the side—and the thought that went through his mind was this: _I could have been him_. It was a strange feeling; not quite envy, not quite anger, but more of a deep resonating scorn. In that moment, Scorpius' cool-headed wit had departed and was replaced with an overwhelming hate. He hated the fact that this boy, who looked as though he could hardly care about rolling out of bed in the morning, had been simply given all that he'd strived so hard to achieve: respect, esteem, even something so trivial—like entry into a joke-shop.

He was so preoccupied with this thought that he hardly noticed the arrival of Harry Potter and the rest of the family. During the exchange between Harry and his father, he only caught fragments their exchange before his father ushered him away. Scorpius was relieved. He was certain that if he'd stayed in their presence a moment longer, his blazing emotions would have consumed him. As they departed, he only hesitated for a moment, turning back for a last look at the son of Harry Potter.

Albus Potter's eyes met his without flinching. They were a vivid bottle-green, burning with curiosity.

It was a moment that Scorpius would often recollect in the next couple years. When he returned home and once more encountered the newspaper articles and the tabloids about the Potter family, the image of the quiet, redheaded boy would leap into his mind, and the bitter emotions he'd experienced on that day would resurface.

And then the day came when Scorpius was due for his first-year at Hogwarts.

It was a silent trip to Platform 9 and 3/4. The Malfoys, as always, avoided contact with the other families except for those that were friends of Draco's. Scorpius was reunited with his former playmates—Vera Zabini, Lucas Rosier, and the twins, Gareth and Carpathia Nott. They greeted each other solemnly in the midst of their parents, who were all determined on being as inconspicuous as possible.

As the train gave its final boarding call, Draco's farewell to his son was quick and concise ("Don't get into trouble, boy"). His mother barely had time to give Scorpius a small embrace before the two of them ducked away from the platform's edge and Disapparated.

For the first time in his life, Scorpius' home was no longer the Malfoy Manor. He reflected upon this with slight amusement, and found himself suddenly relaxed, as if an anvil had been lifted off his shoulders. As he and his friends settled into their compartment, the conversation between them took on relatively lighter tone as they too began to sit restlessly in anticipation, no longer burdened with somberness of their parents.

"So wot do you think it'll be like?" commented Gareth in his thick Irish accent. He was a rather mousy-looking boy who was quite easygoing once one got to know him. More on one occasion, Scorpius had seen Gareth smile wider than his face would permit, but granted, it did not happen very often.

"It must be easier than home," said Vera decisively, tugging her dark straight hair out of the bun her mum had made her wear. She adjusted the red-tinted glasses on her face and peered into the corridor outside. "Have any of you seen the Potters? I've been dying to get a good look."

At the mention of the Potters, Scorpius was once more assailed by all-too-familiar emotions, but he suppressed them with an easy smile. "Why? They're all a bunch of frumpy, redheaded idiots. Terrible fashion sense. Now there's a new meaning to the phrase 'looks to die for.'"

The children in the compartment guffawed, all except for Carpathia Nott who—as usual—was in a silent stupor.

"Reckon I saw at least three of them by the train," said Lucas, "You know what this means: more Gryffindors."

Gareth groaned and muttered something darkly under his breath. At the sight of this, his sister rolled her eyes and let out a small 'puh' of disdain.

Gareth turned to look at Carpathia Nott, a fierce expression on his face, and said: "What? Do you have something to say this time?"

Carpathia's eyes glinted almost maliciously at this outburst, but she remained silent.

Scorpius raised his eyebrows at this exchange. He had always found Carpathia Nott to be a bit of an oddity. In all the years that she'd known her, she had never willingly formed a fully-fledged sentence unless it was expected in polite company. Unlike her twin, who liked to speak what was on his mind, Carpathia expressed herself through her eyes, her hands, her posture. It was perhaps for this reason why she seemed to treat her image like a work of art. To her parents' exasperation, Carpathia had taken it upon herself to battle every form of tradition when it came to her attire. Scorpius had never seen Carpathia in anything but black, and yet every set of black robes that she owned was different, for she had snipped and altered them each to a unique and specific design.

Today, it looked as if her Hogwarts robes had not escaped such treatment. She had somehow made it so that the robes wrapped around her body like a cloak. On one side, the dark cloth fell gracefully over her shoulder, which almost seemed to make her look like a sophisticated vampire. Her plain brown hair, which had been falling nearly to her waist when he'd last seen her, was now cropped just above the shoulders. A dark shock of it fell over her eyes, which—like her brother-was a light greenish brown.

When she angled her head away from the rest of the children, Scorpius was surprised to see a gleaming black stud glittering in her ear.

"Nutter," snapped Gareth ruthlessly. "Merlin, it's impossible living with you." He looked at his friends, and did a spiral motion with his finger next to his head: "She got her ears pierced this summer at a muggle store. Nearly gave mum a stroke." Carpathia gave no sign that she was perturbed by his words; in fact, she'd begun to smile.

At that moment, the train door compartment burst open, and the girl that Scorpius had seen the other day outside Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes stumbled in.

"Sorry for barging in. I was just wondering if maybe any of you have seen an owl?"

For several awkward seconds, the entire compartment stared at the intruder, taking in her flaming red hair and disheveled robes.

"An _owl_?" Gareth finally repeated, breaking the silence. "How on earth do you lose an owl?"

"I s'pect it flew out of its cage," said the redheaded girl breezily. "Well, anyway, thanks for looking. If you see anything flying around-"

"You mean there's a great ruddy bird flying around the train?" said Scorpius incredulously.

"I certainly hope so. I wouldn't want it flying out the window," replied the girl worriedly, turning to address him. Her eyes registered Scorpius' pale blond hair and condescending expression and then widened in recognition. "Oh! It's—it's you." The last syllable went down a pitch, signifying her apparent distaste.

"Don't sound too enthusiastic," commented Scorpius acidly.

"I apologize. O, tis you, a wonderful sight to behold." she responded tartly, and Scorpius couldn't help but smile in amusement. "Right, um, sorry to bother you all again. Must be going now-"

"Well hang on, aren't you going to introduce yourself?" interrupted Vera eagerly, who seemed to be on a warpath on making new friends. The others in the compartment groaned and shifted uncomfortably.

The girl looked rather taken aback for several moments, but then she recovered her manners and replied: "Right, of course. Um. I'm Rose. Rose Weasley."

Scorpius couldn't help uttering a snort. A Weasley. Oh, how quaint.

Rose's nose twitched in irritation and she opened her mouth, no doubt to make a cutting retort, when—

Several things happened at once. A large object collided into the compartment door with a huge bang, rattling the doorframes. Immediately following this, a jet of light came hurtling down the corridor, hitting the object (which looked from a distance like a ball of feathers) and causing it to drop towards the ground. At the same time, Carpathia lurched forward with surprisingly quick reflexes, catching the object neatly in her hands.

Loud footsteps came echoing down the corridor until a familiar figure with reddish brown hair stumbled, panting, into the compartment. It was the Potter boy, no doubt about that. He looked just the same as he had two years ago, just as Scorpius had visualized him in his mental ponderings.

Carpathia got up from her kneeling position and held out the object—which they now knew was the immobilized form of a grey owl—in her hands. She said simply: "Your owl."

The Potter boy gaped at her in bafflement, then took the unconscious owl gingerly in his hands: "Er, thanks. Thank you," he added quickly, acknowledging everyone in the compartment with a nod of his head. When his eyes fell on Scorpion, they flickered in recognition. "Don't I know you?"

"Scorpius Malfoy," stated Scorpius smoothly.

"Oh right," replied the Potter boy rather awkwardly. He extended his hand courteously and said, "Albus Potter. Or Al."

Vera uttered a small titter of excitement. Gareth and Lucas both shot her looks of reproach, but they too began to assess the boy with critical eyes. Rose, who seemed to be on her tether's end with all the niceties, then proceeded to tug on her cousins' arm and made a small indication with her head that they ought to leave.

The two children muttered quick goodbyes and went off where they'd come from, closing the compartment door behind them.

Gareth exhaled loudly. "So that was a Potter boy? Good grief, I'm definitely not gunning for Gryffindor this year. What about you, Scorp? Slytherin all the way?"

Scorpius smirked. "Naturally. I look dashing in green and silver."

"And you lot? Slytherin?"

There were murmurs of agreement all around. Carpathia, of course, made no sound.

Lucas frowned contemplatively and craned his head to peer down the corridor. "What do you reckon about that Weasley girl? She was rather pretty."

Scorpius snorted in reply, "Oh yeah, if you're into banshees. I, for one, am planning to keep my Hogwarts years completely Potter-free."

Unfortunately, as it would have it, fate did not grant Scorpius Malfoy's wish. Upon the first-years' arrival to Hogwarts and the subsequent Sorting that awaited them, it was apparent that otherworldly workings were at hand.

The first half of the Sorting went smoothly without any terrible shocks. There was already a healthy batch of Hufflepuffs, a handful of Ravenclaws and Gryffindors, and the occasional Slytherin popping up here and there. Nothing to worry about.

When Scorpius heard his name uttered, he sauntered up to the hat without so much of an elevated hear-trate. The hat's dusty flap plunged his world into darkness, leaving Scorpius to sit there with his thoughts.

Seconds ticked by, each stretching out longer than the last. He began to feel a new uneasiness trickle into the recesses of his heart.

Then, out of the blackness, a thin, shrewd voice chuckled in his ear: _Aha! A Malfoy, eh? Haven't had one of those in nineteen years. _

Scorpius gripped the stool beneath him in surprise. His father had never mentioned this aspect of the Sorting when he'd recounted it.

_Now now where to put this one? I must say, the share of first-years this year has been so very fascinating, quite as fascinating as the year that Harry Potter and his friends came to Hogwarts. _

Slytherin obviously, thought Scorpius with thinly-veiled contempt. He could hear the others in the Great Hall buzzing with commotion over what was taking so long, and wished that the Sorting would just be over and done with.

_What's this? A streak of rebelliousness, I see, and quite a great deal of mischief… but dare I say that I detect a smidgen of bravery? _

No, not bravery, Scorpius thought fervently, just plain old mischief.

Senile dishrag, he added half-heartedly for effect.

_Yes, yes, don't think I haven't heard it all before. Well I'd hoped you would not consent to follow in the footsteps of so many Malfoys before you, but now I see its necessity… it would make your future actions that much more significant if you were a Slytherin…yes, I see that now. You have the ambition to become so much greater than your forefathers, and you must if you wish to break the cycle…but you won't do it alone. Oh no, I'll make sure of that…_

"SLYTHERIN!"

Scorpius blinked in bewilderment as a wave of applause washed into his world. When the Hat was lifted from his eyes, he felt as though he'd been woken from a trance. He made his way dazedly to the table of green and silver, his head still spinning from the Sorting Hat's words, but still lucid enough to feel extremely satisfied that he'd finally made it to the house that he belonged.

He settled comfortably in his seat just in time to watch Carpathia Nott walk calmly to the stool. Gareth, who was next, watched her with anxious eyes with the rest of the uncalled first-years. The Hat sank over Carpathia's dark head, obscuring her face from view.

Scorpius smirked, already imagining the Hat's croaky screech when he delivered the outcome. _Slytherin!_

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Scorpius started and nearly fell of his chair. A loud droning noise began to occupy the room as students buzzed in bewilderment, the words 'Death-Eater' and 'dark wizarding family' circulating in the atmosphere like some airborne disease. Carpathia was frozen on the stool, one hand clutching the hat that she'd just lifted from her head. She looked as if she was choking on the letter 'O'.

Then, from the opposite side of the room, the Gryffindor table began to clap weakly. One of the prefects stood up and beckoned Carpathia over, putting an arm around the girl's slumped shoulders when she arrived at the table.

Gareth was so stunned that he had to have his name called twice. He finally made it to the Sorting Hat after having Lucas shove him onto the platform. A moment later, he made his way to the Slytherin table and sat beside Scorpius, his expression still frozen in shock over the placement of his twin sister.

"A Gryffindor!" he kept murmuring dully to himself, "What will mum and dad say?"

But little did they know the Sorting Hat's tricks were far from over. Barely five minutes later, Albus Potter's name was called and the poor boy was washed up onto the platform on a tide of anticipated applause. Even before the Sorting Hat was placed over his head, the Gryffindors began banging their goblets on the table and shouting out Potter's name as though he was already their own.

Scorpius would always look back and remember his jaw dropping for the first time in his life, the moment when the Sorting Hat had inexplicably, unexpectedly roared: "SLYTHERIN!"

The Sorting Hat's astonishing proclamation resonated within the Great Hall's four walls, and a very pregnant silence descended upon the room, filled with a thousand noiseless open mouths. It was so quiet that one could've heard a pin drop, and the worst part was that it seemed endless. Unlike the swift, relieving applause that the Gryffindors had provided for Carpathia's unexpected placement, there was no one on the Slytherin table who seemed prepared enough to get over the fact that for the first time in history, a Potter had become a member of the Slytherin House. It was only when the Deputy Headmaster cleared his throat and called out the next name did the Sorting resume.

The rest of the night became a hazy stupor of food-mountains and pumpkin juice. As the turbulence from the unforeseen Sorting died down, the students became preoccupied with talk of classes and the latest gossip. Scorpius indulged himself with the company of new Slytherins that quickly came to regard him with interest and admiration, and found that he was immensely enjoying the fact that he was in the spotlight. It was only later, when he trudged wearily to his new dorm and prepared to enter a good night's sleep, was he reminded of the strange events that had transpired that night…

…because there—sprawled across the bed next to his-was an unmistakable redheaded figure snoring away, his hair clashing with the green sheets, the same figure whom Scorpius was now forced to spend the next seven years living with.

Faced with this horrific realization, there was nothing left for him to do but say, with a great deal amount of feeling: "Bugger."


	3. First Greetings

It would've been nice to say that the two boys got along splendidly after discovering they were roommates, that they became fast friends under the green-and-silver banners of their mutual house. Unfortunately, Albus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy's relationship at Hogwarts could not have been more far off.

Though Al had initially wanted to create good relations with everyone in his dorm, this courtesy had stopped short towards Scorpius the day his first classes at Hogwarts had begun. On that morning, Al had been rudely awakened by a splash of ice-cold water. As he gasped and sputtered to consciousness, hugging his freezing body, he heard Scorpius' tantalizing tones echo in his ear:

"Rise and shine."

And thus began a long procession of many such mornings.

It did not end with icy buckets of water. As it happened, Scorpius was quite inventive with his methods of early-morning torture. Colliding frying pans, live rooster crows, even a warm douse of cooking oil—nothing stopped him from ensuring that Al's response would never fall short from yelps and screeches. The worst part was that no matter how much Al tried to negotiate or establish a civil conversation with Scorpius, the morning wakeup calls never desisted. He'd even resorted to a couple of retaliations, but they failed miserably, perhaps because Scorpius seemed to sleep with one eye shut, or perhaps (as Al suspected darkly) he didn't sleep at all. In addition, Scorpius' knowledge of magic was extraordinarily expansive for a boy his age, and his talent in conjuring up new hexes (as well as inventing some of his own) was a gift that exceeded far beyond Al's own capabilities.

Scorpius' talents hardly stopped there. He was extremely meticulous when it came to executing spells. That, combined with his incredible memory-which allowed him to remember new material instantly-made him an exceptional student. Within the first few weeks of class, it was clear that Scorpius was top of their year. The only person who was even within range of competing against him was Rose, who had inherited her mother's obsessive need to excel in absolutely everything. The primary difference between them was that while Rose kept her head down, Scorpius had the tendency to strut down the first-year corridors and broadcast his achievements for everyone to hear, which ultimately made him a terrible roommate.

Al did not understand why, but Scorpius seemed to be on a personal vendetta to lower Al's self-esteem. It was already bad enough that Al found himself struggling to keep up in classes that required large amounts of wandwork—Transfiguration and Charms in particular—and then have Scorpius incessantly remind him that he was superior to him in practically all subjects. In addition to the constant goading and the constant appearance of Scorpius' stupid smirks, it seemed as though Scorpius had established a dictatorship-like hold on the rest of the house. The first-year Slytherins idolized him and had no problem being manipulated into any of his malicious schemes. This most frequently included Scorpius' favorite activity, which was 'group-hating on Potter'.

It wasn't a difficult task. Many of the Slytherins had no qualms ostracizing Al from their little cliques. In their eyes, they still perceived him as a misplaced Gryffindor, the unfortunate product of the Sorting Hat's one-time malfunction. Though none of them chose to be as candidly rude as Scorpius was, they were fine with disregarding Al's presence like he was some ugly scarlet-haired portrait hanging on the emerald-green walls.

Not that Al really minded. He had no intention of making serious friends in Slytherin, partly because he knew that many of his relatives would see this as a sign to eschew him forever. Though he had been appalled by his house placement the moment the Sorting Hat had uttered its decision (secretly, he was uncomfortably living with the idea that the outcome had been his fault—after all, he did express serious doubts about being in Gryffindor), no one was more horrified than James. Within minutes of the Sorting Hat's decision, James had descended upon his little brother in a flurry of indignant cries ("why do you always have to screw it up, you stupid little prat? I always knew you were going to be the one to tarnish the Potter name") and threatening remarks ("don't think you're going to go and make _friends_ or anything"). It didn't help that for the next couple of days, both James and Fred would toss him snide remarks as they passed him in the corridors or that even Rose would glance dubiously at him during dinner as though she wasn't sure whether they could sit together or not.

Finally, Al caved into the pressure. After the first week of school, he joined Rose for breakfast at the Gryffindor table. He quickly became friends with her friends, which included their long-time family acquaintance Rowan Thomas, a sandy-haired muggleborn named Drew Caraway, and a very pretty Ravenclaw girl named Isabel Marietto. His green-and-silver Slytherins scarf appeared less and less out of his trunk. The Slytherins naturally took this mean that Al had unofficially detached himself from the house, and of course upped their exclusion of him to a higher degree. And through all of this, Scorpius Malfoy reveled in the fact that he had exceeded Albus Potter no only in terms of academics, but also popularity.

That was until flying lessons came round.

The morning of their first lesson was beautifully clear, not a cloud in the sky. Al had woken up that day feeling more exhilarated than he had for ages. He'd loved Quidditch for as long as he could remember but had never ridden anything but toy brooms due to his father's concerns of safety. James, of course, hadn't even condoned the thought of Al even touching his state-of-the-art Nebulus 3.0 let alone borrow it. The thought of riding his first real broomstick was so invigorating that not even Scorpius' morning surprise that day could dampen Al's mood.

As the first-years pooled out on the Quidditch pitch, Al noticed a number of responses. There were those, like Rose, who were pacing restlessly on the grass as though they couldn't wait to mount their broomsticks. Others looked as if they'd like nothing more than to perform a gravity charm on themselves as to remain firmly on the ground. As usual, they were all condensed into little groups according to each respective house—with the exception of Al, who stood apart from the Slytherins.

The flying instructor was a rather slight-looking middle-aged man named Christopher Hopkirk, who spent the first few minutes of class stressing that they were to address him as Master Hopkirk and nothing else.

Then, as if from a dream, his voice wafted over the first years: "Find your broomsticks, and mount them."

It was the moment Al had dreamed of. He immediately raced towards the hand-me-down Nimbus 2000, which he had easily spotted from afar as the best broom out of the lot. Within seconds, the broom was tucked between his legs, and his feet were flat and poised on the ground, waiting to kick off.

"Up. _Up_," muttered someone to his left. Al turned and saw Carpathia Nott, bent over her broomstick with a look of intense frustration. Her outstretched hand jabbed towards the broomstick with each forced syllable so that it looked as though she was attempting to salute it.

He felt a twinge of sympathy for her, not only because it looked as if she was having a great deal of trouble getting her broomstick to cooperate but also because he noticed that she was once more isolated from the Gryffindors, who were busy chatting in excited tones on the other side of him.

"You've got to be assertive. They know when you're not being serious," he suggested. She abruptly glanced up at him, startled by his voice—or perhaps the friendliness of his tone-and her face cracked into a faint smile in response.

"Thanks."

When Master Hopkirk at long last gave the go to fly, Al lifted into the air hazily as though he were in some sort of trance. As he gained higher and higher altitude, the sun appeared over the horizon and blinked gold into his eyes, and the smell of the old pine trees mingled with fresh morning dew filled his nostrils. Finally, Al looked down and surveyed the expansive green grounds below him, noting his still-grounded classmates that were now nothing but fleshy dots in his vision. Glorious. Smiling wider than he had in weeks, Al gave a loud hoot and kicked off into a dive.

It was perhaps the most wonderful lesson that Al had had so far at Hogwarts. Though Hopkirk was not the most proficient teacher when it came to educating basic flying technique, he allowed his students to stay above ground for the majority of class, which was all that Al needed. Of course, with Scorpius in the classroom, it wasn't long before the harmonious lesson was disrupted.

"You prick! You set my broom on fire!"

"Are you sure it wasn't your hair, Weasley?"

Al landed on the ground only to see his Rose-her scarlet hair a wild mess-brandishing a smoking broomstick at Scorpius Malfoy. Her other hand was clawed and twitching as though she was imagining it around his throat.

"You think you're so bloody fabulous, don't you?" snarled Rose viciously. "You're just an insecure prat who can't stand the fact of anyone beating him so he has to resort to pathetic cheating ploys."

"For Merlin's sake, Weasley, I could spell out your name in the sky before you even learned how to totter on those tubby legs of yours. Lighting your broom on fire was just an added bonus, really. If you think about it, I was really doing you a favor to spare you the humiliation of losing. It's really no fun if my opponent falls flat her face when I'm flying circles around her."

"Prove it."

The words left Al's mouth and fell like stones.

A sudden silence descended upon the pitch. His classmates landed in a semi-circle around him and the blond-haired boy, eyes widened with curiosity.

Scorpius Malfoy's surprise was immediately replaced with a look of utter contempt. "You, Potter?"

Al raised his chin. "Yeah, me. Come on, Malfoy. One time, around the pitch." He mounted his broom and boosted off the ground.

Scorpius Malfoy shot up into the air in a flash, his ice-blue eyes glittering. "Alright then."

Master Hopkirk swooped in anxiously between them, looking quite nervous. "Boys, that's enough. I don't think that's quite appropriate for your first time on broomsticks-"

"Shut up, you old sod," snapped Scorpius, "Go and knit socks or something."

There was a collective gasp from the other first-years at this insolent outburst. Master Hopkirk barely had time to recover from his shock before the two boys whistled into dives past him.

A deep, profound determination sliced into Al's heart in a way that he had never once experienced before. As he sped in a blur of green and blue, his shoulder jammed up against Scorpius', he found himself assailed by an intoxicating giddiness, registering the fact that he had never moved so fast in his life. The wood beneath him groaned strenuously, but he urged it on, feeling the wind scream into his ears, thread through his hair, and water his eyes, hating the fact that regardless if he won or lost, this moment would not last forever…

Then, suddenly he felt Scorpius' shoulder slide off him, and in a burst of freedom of having shaken off his opponent, he jerked his broom sharply out of his dive-his toes just skimming the petrified grass-and swept onto the green earth.

The roaring applause from his classmates told him that he'd won, but Al could barely think, could only concentrate on the ferocious beating of his heart, the memory of the blurred world and the warm blood thudding in his ears…Merlin's beard, this was the most breathtaking feeling in the world.

Suddenly, he found himself looking up at the towering figure of Joseph Davies, a popular wiry-looking seventh-year who (Al suddenly realized, with a nervous drop of his heart) happened to be the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team. Joseph was completely clad in Quidditch uniform, and behind him stood the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team equally dressed. No doubt they had been ready to start Quidditch practice, but their raised eyebrows and slightly widened mouths indicated that they had just witnessed everything that had just happened.

Dimly, Al registered James and Fred's voices catcalling somewhere in the distance—had they seen everything as well? Were they _congratulating_ him?

"Potter, right?" Joe Davies' deep voice yanked him out of his daze. His thick black eyebrows drew together as he appraised Al with curiosity and faint admiration. "Fantastic flying for a first-year. Amazing speed. You'd make a damn good Chaser, maybe even a Seeker. Try out for the team next year, yeah?"

With a wink, Joe trod past him with the Slytherin team in his wake.

A new, burning excitement had begun to erupt from the pit of Al's stomach. He barely listened when Master Hopkirk spluttered furiously at both him and Scorpius for directly disobeying his orders, insisting on multiple detentions, nor when Rose's laughed delightedly in his ear as she embraced him. He was dizzy with joy, and nothing- absolutely nothing-could destroy his fantasies of being a member of the Quidditch team. He was already imagining himself poised heroically on his broomstick, carving gracefully through the air like a lethal swallow, his green-and-silver uniform flapping in the wind—

"Oi, Al." James' voice cut through his reverie like a hot knife in butter. Al stopped in his tracks, nearly running into his brother's muscled form.

"What do you want?" he asked, and a prickle of uneasiness crept across his skin.

"Nothing. You were brilliant. We definitely didn't think you had it in you," quipped Fred from behind him. Al glanced at his cousin's face for confirmation, and to his relief, saw that Fred's smile was genuine.

"Yeah, you were. Brilliant. And all that," replied James impatiently, waving off the compliment like it was an irritable mosquito. "So what did Joe Davies want?"

"I dunno. He thought I was pretty good, and he wanted me to try out for the team next year. He said I'd make a good Chaser," added Al just for good measure, knowing it was James' own position on the Gryffindor team.

James burst out laughing. "Come off it! Bloody Merlin, Slytherin's more desperate than I thought. He doesn't think you're actually going to try out, does he?"

Al's hopes plummeted into the pit of his stomach. "What do you mean?"

James' smile faded slightly. His brow began to furrow, the same way it did when he was trying to resolve a particularly complicated homework problem. "Well, _bollocks_. Practically all of us are on the Gryffindor team. How awkward would that be?"

"Not to mention that Rosie's probably going to make the team sooner or later, and James is all sort out to be captain in a couple years," said Fred musingly, "You know the drill, Al. We're family. We look out for each other."

"Otherwise, instead of just being ugly and speccy, you'd be an ugly and speccy git," added James with his usual authority.

The implications of their words sank numbly into Al's brain. "But I-"

"Hold that thought, young 'un. Sylvia Weinberg's looking this way—Fred, you twat, laugh like I said something funny, like your mum shagging a goblin-"

"In what fucked-up universe would I even find that remotely funny-"

As the two boys left, guffawing and punching each other to see how much damage could be inflicted on their shoulder pads, a foreboding gloom descended upon Al. The lethal swallow that had been hovering in his imagination just moments ago plummeted with a loud thunk, and with it, all his dreams that had just barely just begun to seed. The wizened broomstick suddenly weighed down his arms like dead wood, and it was this same heavy sensation that accompanied Al for the next few years whenever he chanced to touch a broom, for the object he loved most had become an oppressive reminder of what James had so cruelly taken from him.

The days worsened in the following weeks. Whether it was because of the declining weather conditions, in which the crisp autumn airs faded into blustery December winds, or because courses had doubled the work-load as they grew closer to the end of term, Albus was absolutely miserable.

It didn't help that his roommate was adopting a violent streak towards him. Al wasn't quite sure where Scorpius had suddenly acquired the penchant to make his life a living duel, but it had a faint idea it had something to do with that day on the Quidditch pitch. Perhaps if he'd paid closer attention, he would have seen the way Scorpius' face crumpled in a mixture of fury and blatant jealousy when Joe Davies had spoken to Al about joining the Quidditch team. It certainly came to his attention now.

Though Scorpius was quite good at nonchalantly attributing his failure on the pitch that day to external factors ("Potter's face was so ugly I had to use one hand to cover my eyes"), there was no use hiding it when they were alone in the dorms together. Unlike before, when Scorpius would only attack Al's self-esteem using his words, the Slytherin malice took pleasure through retaliation in a manner that was frighteningly vicious. Al had once walked into his room only to have himself thrown against the wall by one of Scorpius' Disarming Spells, a second-year trick that none of the other first-years had mastered. While he lay gasping against the floor, holding a bleeding a nose, Scorpius had slowly incinerated all his beloved Quidditch posters (signed by the players themselves) in front of his eyes. Then, with a faint smirk, he'd thrown the ashes into Al's face and walked out of the room without another word.

There were many other such small incidents. To make matters what, Scorpius had rallied some of the other Slytherin first-years to his side, including Gareth and Lucas, who were both living in the same dorm. Al began to sleep in the Slytherin common-room at night, too paranoid over the fact that something awful would happen to him if he stayed in the dorms. When he told of his plight to Rose, she was so outraged that she marched up to Scorpius and splashed pumpkin juice all over his neatly pressed clothes. Of course, it did nothing but incense him further, and Al received a nasty round of the Jellylegs Jinx later on.

Al had contemplated going to the Head of House about his dilemma. The Head of House was the Potions Master, Professor Astrakhan, and Potions was a subject that Al was quite proficient in. But there were drawbacks. Professor Astrakhan had been a Soviet Mediwizard, with a personality as friendly as that of a pregnant hippogriff's. The other problem Al was certain of was that no matter what Professor Astrakhan did (and it was very unlikely that he would do anything), the bullying would only intensify.

It was perhaps the most awful period of his life. He was now properly shunned from Slytherin, for no one would even glance at him when he walked through he common-room. Though he took solace in the company of Rose and her friends, he had forsaken all ties with his house-mates under the decree of Scorpius Malfoy. He was constantly living in apprehension of his own dorm-mates, and with no way to combat their advances due to Scorpius' expansive knowledge of spells. He had tried asking his older brother for help, but as a third-year, James was quite convinced that his own problems were much more important. With nothing to turn to, Al found himself writing a letter to his father to request a transfer out of Hogwarts.

It was a white December morning when Al trudged heavily towards the Owlery, with the letter he'd written to home in his pocket. He was conflicted by a multitude of emotions—anger over how bloody unfair that everything had turned out the way it had (him being sorted into Slytherin and all), disappointment over how much his experience at Hogwarts had fallen short of his expectations, but of most of all, humiliation. Who had ever heard of a first-year dropping out of Hogwarts? And the son of Harry Potter, no less!

He heard the crunch of footsteps behind him and stopped short, his blood going cold. Al knew that expensive crunch, that neat impeccable sound of Italian footwear against snow.

"What do you want, Malfoy," he said into the quiet morning air, more of a statement than a question.

He could practically hear the smirk in Scorpius' voice. "Not even going to fight for it, Potter?"

Al exhaled and turned to face him, his hand already gripping the wand inside his pocket. Scorpius made an angelic picture, with his pale complexion matching the crystal white backdrop of the snow around him. His blue eyes were cold, the only indicator of the malevolent monster inside of him.

"I don't fight, Malfoy," said Al flatly. "I'm not going to, as much as you want me to."

Scorpius' face twitched in annoyance. "More fun for me, then."

Al shook his head and resumed walking, his heart starting to race despite the composed expression he maintained. He knew the Owlery was somewhere close…only 50 meters away perhaps…

There was a shock on his arm as a jet of red light hit his elbow. A jarring sensation leapt up towards his shoulder. Al grit his teeth and glanced back to see Scorpius ambling casually behind him, twirling his wand in between his fingers.

"Don't worry, just a bit of sparks. Nothing damaging," said Scorpius. He smiled craftily: "Yet." He uttered a spell inaudibly, and a black jet of light hit Al square on the shoulder. Al gasped as a sharp stinging sensation pierced his skin.

"Stinging hex," said Scorpius as a matter-of-factly.

"You're bloody mental!"

"Really? I'm not the one who's walking off with my back turned towards my attacker."

"I'm not fighting you."  
>"Pathetic," sneered Scorpius, "<em>Rictumsempra<em>!"

Before Al could speak, he was lifted off the ground and thrusted ten meters away. Pain split through his ribs as his body impacted, and Al choked for air, having had the wind knocked out of him.

He stood up, his knees shaking, thinking with an almost terrified sort of determination that the Owlery couldn't be much further away and that all he had to do was get there, mail his letter, and he'd be safe.

"Are you really just going to let me hex you and get away with it? Not even going to lift a finger, Potter? Bloody hell, you really must have been an accident."

_Just ignore him_, thought Al fervently, his quick, stiff footsteps echoing in his ears.

"I wonder what it was like for the great Harry Potter the day you were born. You probably took a look outside and wanted to crawl back into mummy's belly. I almost feel sorry for the poor bastard now. Married a whore, gave birth to a coward."

_Shut your mouth, you prick. You bastard prick._

"Of course, Harry Potter wasn't exactly better off. Apple doesn't fall far from the tree does it? I mean, the man wasn't a coward, but his father was a rather pathetic sod, and his mother was a mudblood-"

Something snapped inside of Al. In a red, hazy blur, he found himself drawing out his wand with hands shaking in fury.

"You _shut your mouth_, Malfoy. You're a scumbag, and your whole family are scumbags, and you've always been jealous because you're nothing but a low-life piece of dirt that no one besides your Death-Eater friends could even look at. I may be a coward, but I'm not the son of traitor."

Al's mind was spinning with a mixture of horror and delight from the hateful words raining down from his mouth. They landed on Scorpius like hot coals, and the blond-haired boy's face clenched from shock and the truthfulness of it all.

Al raised his wand-arm, more confident than he had ever been with it, and in his mind he saw himself riding a great red tide of anger, his wand poised and ready, his mouth opened to utter a terrible curse—

"IMPE-"

"_EXPELLIARMUS_!" shouted Scorpius so viciously that it came out as a snarl. Al found himself thrusted off the ground once more and landing on the snow meters away. He felt the pins and needles of the cold jabbing painfully into his legs, but he could only focus on the cold wash of overwhelming despair and humiliation, that he'd once more lost to Malfoy, that he'd once more let himself be overcome…

He felt as though he wanted to die when he heard Scorpius say, so softly and so full of bitterness: "Pathetic."

Then, out of nowhere, a shadow darted over Al's face, and he heard an almost inaudible cry: "_Impendimenta_!"

Scorpius uttered a shocked yelp, and unseen force caused him to skid backwards until he was slammed against a tree trunk. The blood drained from he pale boy's face as he wheezed to catch his breath, clutching his side. His wand fell limply into the snow.

"_Bloody hell_?"

Al was still splayed out in the snow where he'd landed moments before. He found himself looking upwards at the tiny form of Carpathia Nott. The girl's face was stark-white and clearly visible against the frame of cropped jet-black hair. Her arm was stretched out and firmly pointed at Scorpius without a crack or tremor. Her eyes were dark and brutal.

She lifted her chin just slightly and said in slow steady tones: "Your mother would not want this."

Scorpius' eyes darkened with unidentified emotion. Expressionlessly, he detached himself from the tree and bent to pick up his wand. With one last glance at Al, he swerved around and strode off into the distance.

Al's mouth felt thick from confusion and uncertainty. "I-"

Carpathia bent down and touched a spot near his ribs where he'd landed earlier. He flinched.

She glanced up at him sharply. "You'd better go to the hospital wing for some ointment. I think it's bruised."

"Okay," said Al stupidly. It was the most that he'd heard Carpathia speak ever since term had started. "You didn't have to-"

"I did," interrupted Carpathia levelly. Her voice had returned to its soft quality, but there was undercurrent of fierceness in her words. "Do we have Transfiguration first today?"

"I—uh, yeah, we do," said Al, shaking his head with bewilderment. "No, just hang on, if there's anything I can-"

"Don't," said Carpathia, holding out her hand for him to grab. Al wordlessly took it and pulled himself up to her level. When he looked at her in quizzical wonderment, her face broke into a faint smile.

"We're the misfits," she said simply, and with a small twitch of her head, she shook the hair out of her eyes. "We've got to protect each other."

"I…" Al stared at her, at a loss of words. This unexpected gesture of frank and unconditional kindness was so sudden that he was unable to articulate his emotions. Not even a simple a thank you.

But she understood. She must have. Carpathia squinted into the distance with a gloved hand shading her eyes. "Were you headed back to the castle?"

"Yeah, I was," replied Al. As he followed her down towards the path to the castle, he reached into his pocket and felt the brush of parchment against his fingers. He smiled faintly to himself, realizing that the weight of the letter in his pocket was suddenly not heavy at all.


	4. Second Salutations

**Second Salutations: **

The winter of Scorpius' second year at Hogwarts was perhaps one of the most miserable that the castle had seen in years. The cold northern winds blustering in from the Scottish moors could not be tamed by the fires, and the lake was covered in such thick sheets of ice that even a pickaxe was unable to do any sufficient damage. It didn't help that the Slytherin common-room was located in the dungeons, the coldest area of the castle. As a result, the weather had caused the Slytherins to behave in a manner that was very decidedly un-Slytherin. Scorpius had actually witnessed a throng of Slytherin fifth-year boys huddling cozily under the same blanket near the fire. _Huddling_. And all the more shocking, he had even seen a group of Slytherin girls beckoning Albus to share their spot near the fireplace, though Scorpius later convinced himself that the reason behind it was because Mrs. Potter had sent her son a self-heating winter cloak.

The vicious winter had also prompted the Quidditch season to shut down early, much to Scorpius' chagrin. He'd been looking forward to watching Slytherin pummel Ravenclaw to smithereens, despite not making the team himself this year. During tryouts, he had lost the Seeker position to a 5th year named Farris Cochrin, which surprisingly didn't faze him as much as he'd thought.

It was a good thing that Al hadn't made the spot either, for Scorpius doubted he would've handled the rejection quite so maturely. The Potter boy hadn't even attempted to try out for the team, a fact which was a source of puzzlement amongst the Slytherins. There was no doubt that Al was talented at Quidditch (though Scorpius hated to admit it), but when tryouts had come rolling around, the redheaded idiot had been content to sit amongst the Gryffindors cheer on his idiot cousin Rose Weasley when she'd tried out for Chaser.

This all led to the main source of annoyance that had been niggling at him lately:

Al. Being content.

Scorpius had done a wonderful job of making that poor sod's life hell his first term at Hogwarts, but something had happened to Al over the year. Scorpius could not pinpoint when the change had occurred; perhaps over the holidays, perhaps when Al and Carpathia Nott had become friends. All Scorpius knew was that Albus Potter had returned for his second-year at Hogwarts with his spine a little straighter, his eyes a little brighter, his chin a little higher. It seemed as if he'd even lost a freckle or two.

The 'change', which Scorpius felt to be significant enough to embellish with large quotation marks, prompted a new reaction from the Slytherins. It had started off gradually, but over time, it became evident that the rest of the house was warming up to him. Talking to him. Laughing with him. Inviting him for trips down to the lake. Al was making _friends_.

It was becoming quite problematic.

AAA.

"You wouldn't mind if I borrowed this issue, would you?"

"Yeah, go on."

"Thanks, mate. Have you seen the latest Nebulus?"

"Yeah. Amazing twig-span…"  
>This was the conversation in the boys' dorms that Scorpius found himself walking into. Lucas and Al were hunched over Quidditch magazines on Al's bed. The two boys were chattering wildly about the latest model in broomstick manufacturing.<p>

Scorpius' eyes narrowed at the sight of his mate and Albus Potter looking so chummy. To his fulfillment, Gareth remained on the other side of the dorm on his bed and was staring at the pair of them with a mingled expression of curiosity and disbelief. Good old Gareth.

"Hope we're not intruding on your wedding plans," proclaimed Scorpius loudly.

Lucas and Al both jumped at the sound of his voice. Al's excited expression shut down as it always did around Scorpius' presence, signaling caution.

"Scorp!" greeted Lucas pleasantly, "Have you seen the latest Nebulus?"

"You're probably doing all the seeing needed for the two of us," replied Scorpius sardonically.

Al cleared his throat and began stacking his magazines up on his nightstand. "Well, I'm off."

"Oi, hang on, I thought we were going to have a round of Exploding Snap!" protested Lucas, "You owe me three sickles."

"Don't worry. I've got it." Al reached into pocket and three silver coins trickled out of his hand into Lucas' palm.

"Oh. I really just wanted to play Exploding Snap, you know. For company," said Lucas, looking slightly mollified.

"Bloody hell, Lucas. If you were a girl, I'd say you were in love," called out Scorpius with a roll of his eyes.

Al's bottle-green eyes met his in an abashed glance, and they both looked away in mutual understanding.

There was almost an unspoken rule about their relationship: they both knew who their friends were, and when hanging out with each other's respective mates, there were certain lines not to cross.

Al turned towards Lucas with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Lucas. Some other time maybe. I've got plans with Rose and Isabel."

"And what about my sister?" inquired Gareth tautly from across the room, looking as vexed as he always did whenever he entertained the thought of Al and Carpathia being friends.

Al knew to tread carefully when it came to these waters. "Thia's studying for her mid-terms in the library." With that, he gave three of them an awkward wave and then exited the room.

Gareth heaved a loud snort of contempt. "Did you hear what he called her? '_Thia_'. Bloody prat's on nickname terms with my sister."

"Could be worse. At least he's not calling her 'Mrs. Potter'," offered Scorpius with a slight grin, knowing that the thought would incense Gareth even more.

"That's not funny," growled Gareth, "I hope he doesn't fancy her. I'd have to write it to mum and dad, and they'd have a fit."

"I was only joking. Nothing personal, mate, but your sister's about as fanciable as a Blast-Ended Skrewt. She's frightened all the blokes in our year to death."

That wasn't the reason why Scorpius doubted Al liked Carpathia, but Scorpius found himself unwilling to share the information. Scorpius had once caught Al staring glassy-eyed at Isabel Marrieto, a first-year Ravenclaw, in Herbology. Al had been so occupied he had nearly ended up drowning his watercress plant, costing Slytherin ten points. Scorpius could remember Al's look of complete adoration as all too comical: Isabel was much too pretty and clever for someone of Al's standard.

"You know, Potter's not half bad," protested Lucas, "He's a decent bloke, and he's got wicked subscriptions."

"He gets them because his dad's famous," snorted Scorpius.  
>"Well, you'd never know it, the way he carries on," insisted Lucas, "He's not like his brother, that tosser. He keeps his head down, you know?"<p>

Every word was pricking at Scorpius' skin like an irritating tick. "I'll tell you something about Albus Potter. He's a cowardly imbecile. Why? Because he's never done a damn worthy thing for his house. He's not good at any of his classes, never earns us any points, and not exactly a sight for sore eyes either. But that's just him being an imbecile. The cowardly part of it is that he's all content to go flitting about with Gryffindors and Ravenclaws and pretty much everyone else besides the people that he eats and sleeps with. He's ashamed of us, of being _here_ with us, when we ought to be ashamed of _him_."

"He's not ashamed of us."

"Don't be thick, Lucas. When was the last time he came to a Quidditch match wearing green and silver?"

"He doesn't wear gold and maroon either."

"Of course not. Can you imagine maroon with that hair?"

On those words, the door to their dorm slammed open and Vera Zabini came rushing in, dressed clad in lavender purple. Her eyes, magnified three times by her red-tinted glasses, were wide and fluttering with anticipation.

"Have any of you seen Albus?"

"Have _you_ seen the entrance to the girl's dormitory?" inquired Scorpius coolly.

"Don't be snarky. Where's Albus?"

"Not. Here," said Scorpius, spreading his arms widely for effect.

Vera's eyes darted around the threshold for confirmation. She emitted a loud 'hmph' of disappointment and then marched out of the room with her black ponytail bouncing behind her.

"I think we can agree _she_ definitely fancies him then?" said Gareth with raised eyebrows.

Scorpius rolled his eyes, a growl resonating from his chest. He felt like punching his bedpost.

Albus bloody Potter.

AAA.

The winter had certainly taken its toll on the castle. The Hospital Wing was constantly running high on students who had caught the flu, and the potions storerooms had run empty of figglenut leaves (remedies for runny noses). James Potter and Fred Weasley were making fortunes from selling Temperature Ties (an invention taken from Weasley Wizard Wheezes which allowed the user to either cool or warm themselves by twisting the tie a certain way) at double the price. The cold had gotten to an extent where Deputy Headmaster Longbottom had to issue a requirement that all students were to wear socks in the evening.

Fortunately for many of the students, professors had begun placing heating wards in their classrooms. Many of the students were glad for the wards, not only because they provided a wonderful source of heat but because they'd discovered that shooting sparks at the wards created mini fireworks. The only professor who was content on letting his students suffer through the cold was the Potions Master, which effectively made Potions the most dreaded class on the timetable.

Professor Astrakhan, said to have been a former mediwizard for the Soviet Union, was every student's nightmare. He was a crooked old man, with slick gray hair combed back to his scalp. A pair of spindly lenses, which rested on top a gigantic beak-nose, obscured the majority of his face. He had a horrible laugh that sounded like a witch's cackle and troll grunt at the same time, and there were those that said that looking into his deep gray eyes was like falling into a bottomless pit.

During this particular Potions class, Scorpius and the rest of the second-year class were huddled around a giant hissing cauldron, which was the only source of heat of the room. As the Potions Master rummaged through the ingredient cabinet, Scorpius glared at his back, wondering how on earth the bloody old codger looked so snug in his robes while the rest of them were dressed in complete winter wear.

As soon as he'd finished the thought, Astrakhan whirled around to face his class with an uncharacteristic glint of mischief in his eyes.

"Good morning class," he grinned, showing his canines. His English was impeccable, but his accent contained something faintly Eastern European. "As I am sure you are all aware, your term exams are coming up shortly. While I am certain that many of you are anticipating the next week to be filled with cramming charms and transfiguration spells into those thick brains of yours, I am pleased to be the bearer of good news when I say I am planning not to include a potions exam."

There were faint cheers of disbelief at his words.

Scorpius heard Gareth whisper: "Best news I've heard all week!"

"But not to worry," Astrakhan raised a crooked finger, silencing the class. "I never fail to find a suitable replacement. To be frank, I have never understood the purpose of writing essays or asking silly-minded questions when it comes to this subject. One can only be evaluated as a true Potions master if one has the knowledge and the skill to collect and combine ingredients. Ha! When I was a boy, the only way we learned to correctly brew Potions was by_ drinking_ them!"

The entire class was silent. Waiting.

"In short, we will be having a practical assessment. The objective is quite simple: I have assigned a potion for you, and you will brew it in the coming class period. However, I have intentionally neglected providing the necessary ingredients—_that _you will have to discover for yourself on your own. These ingredients can all be attained on Hogwarts grounds, so there is no need to purchase them from the Potions store-room. That said, they are _your_ responsibility and you will be marked based on how many you have obtained. You have until the end of the week to collect the ingredients. On the day of the assessment, you will receive instructions as to how to brew your potions and will have the entire class period to complete it. Questions?"

The air was immediately filled with groans and raised hands. "Are there bonus marks?" a dejected Hufflepuff asked.

"Bonus marks? This isn't bloody academic charity," Astrakhan snapped. His face cleared as though he suddenly remembered something. "Ah, but before I forget…as always, I presume that students always need a little more incentive. The student who receives top marks in this assessment will also receive a reward."

The entire class became still.

"I have spent quite a long amount of time brewing this little potion. Given the rough weather recently, the winner should find this quite rewarding. I plan on awarding not one, not two, but _three_ flasks of Drinkable Light."

Scorpius' ears pricked up in excitement, and so did his ambition. It was said that a good mouthful of Drinkable Light would ease the cold from a person's limbs as easily as lying on the beach. It was also said to provide sensation of absolute peace and clarity, as if one had been filled with sunlight. He had once seen his mother buy a flask from the Apothecary and every day, after her evening dosage, her eyes looked as if they were filled with stars.

_I've got this completely in the bag_, he thought wryly. Like his performance in other subjects, Scorpius was quite proficient in Potions. In fact, he would have considered himself top of the class if he wasn't always in competing with—

"Sir, what _is_ the potion that we have to brew?"

Scorpius grimaced as he always did when he heard _her_.

Rose Weasley.

When he turned to look at her, she met his eyes briefly across the room and crinkled her nose in disgust.

Scorpius' relationship with Rose Weasley had established itself as a conflict between loathing and respect. It wasn't difficult to list the reasons why he couldn't stand her. He hated the way she looked, for instance—the ostentatious red hair, the way her mouth seemed to be locked into a permanent grimace around him, the childish clothes that made him want to vomit (she was now wearing a maroon sweater with a banana-yellow W emblazoned on its front). He hated how she carried herself in a manner so dimwittedly _Gryffindor_, like she could recklessly plunge through her actions and back it up with some moralistic intent she'd conjured out of nowhere. Most of all, though, he hated how she was always _there_, a constant adverse presence, battling against him-whether it was in class or the Quidditch pitch. Of course, there were certain benefits to this. Having Rose around made Scorpius strive to fly faster, work his mind harder, conjure up wittier comebacks, and as a result, he could admit that—unlike Al-she was worthy of his attention. He suspected she felt the same about him.

Nevertheless, that didn't mean she wasn't an annoying cow.

"Ms. Weasley, I was just about to explain before you so rudely interjected," said Astrakhan impatiently. "If you all return to your desks, you will find your assignment there."

Sure enough, there was a piece of folded parchment on Scorpius' desk. When he unfolded it, there was a twist of shock in his gut when he saw the assignment.

"Sir!" he called out, "This is way beyond second-year level!" His proclamation was echoed with cries of disbelief emanating from the students in the room.

"Your point, Mr. Malfoy?"

"But we don't touch Memory Restoration potions until O.W.L's!"

"Nonsense. Second-years are perfectly capable."

"Sir," jumped in Rose, looking as though she'd swallowed a toad. "I don't think it's very fair to ask so much of second-years and we've hardly-"

"Quiet," interrupted Astrakhan without even batting an eye. "I fail to see why the two of you are so worried. You are both among the top three of the class."

Scorpius felt a twinge of annoyance as he realized that once more, he and Rose Weasley were head-to-head towards number one. He glanced briefly at Rose's face, and saw the distaste mirrored there as well.

"I'm not worried Professor," he drawled, "I can certainly handle amateurs."

"_Amateur_?" the word ripped out of Rose's mouth in a snarl. "Watch who you're calling an 'amateur'! I beat you on the final term exam last year, don't forget."

"Mm, I do enjoy competition among peers," mused Astrakhan. "Now chop chop! Class is dismissed early! You will need all the time you can get."

Rose shoved forcefully past Scorpius, taking great care to knock his shoulder so that she could whisper in his ear: "I've worked much too hard to come in second. I swear I'll beat you so you know it."

A flash of adrenaline rushed through Scorpius' veins. He could already envision it; the thrill of winning the chase, and then the overwhelming satisfaction of tearing that smug look of Rose Weasley's face once and for all.

"Bring it bloody on," he whispered back. She threw him a last filthy look before disappearing out the door.

There was a cough to Scorpius' right, and when he turned, he saw Albus standing there with a faint smile.

"What are you smirking about, Potter? Shouldn't you be writing a letter to your mum explaining why you failed Potions?"

Al shrugged, brushing past Scorpius in a manner that was much too nonchalant for his liking. "Good luck on your assessment, Malfoy."

AAA.

The next two days passed as a frantic haze of dusty books and parchment as students rushed to cram knowledge in preparation for their term finals. Despite Scorpius' usual nonchalance to that sort of thing, he found himself queuing up in the library to rent out _The Cavaliar's Guide to Potions_, and now prioritized Astrakhan's assignment with religious fervor.

Rose had been right when she'd said that second-years were hardly equipped to handle Memory Restoration Potions, or at least, Hogwarts second-years. Scorpius had barely heard of half of the ingredients that were listed under Memory Restoration potions or how to use them, which gave him huge doubts that the entire year would do well. The easy thing to do would have been to purchase the unknown ingredients at the Potions storeroom, which eventually became the fate of many students who had given up acquiring the ingredients through 'natural' means on the school grounds, but Scorpius was determined to rise to the challenge. It didn't have anything to do with the money of buying them (though Lucas had complained that the ingredients had been incredibly costly). It didn't even have anything to do with his conviction that he was too clever for school. Rather, it had to do with Rose Weasley, whom he'd heard eavesdrop the day after the assignment, boasting loudly to her mates with that smug face of hers:

"There's no need to worry; Astrakhan was quite right when he said they're all attainable on the grounds. You've just got to read your books properly and take a good look around. I've already got all my ingredients."

So, for the first time since he'd attended Hogwarts, Scorpius labored. He trekked down to the gamekeeper's hut and dug up pumpkin vines. He visited the kitchens and asked the House-elves for their fattest, juiciest beetroot. He conjured up a spell that created a makeshift web, trapping a horde of lacewing flies, which he then kept in a jar. One by one, he conquered each ingredient, until there was just one: Bowtruckle wood-lice.

Scorpius had a faint idea what Bowtruckles were, but he didn't know where they lived or how on earth a human was supposed to establish contact with them. He knew they were twig-like pixies that collected wood-lice and harbored them in their nests in preparation for the winter, but he also knew they were incredibly protective of their spoils. It frustrated him to no end. Finally, on the day right before Astrakhan's practical exam, he acknowledged his defeat. He treaded to the Potions storeroom and lined up behind his classmates, paying a Galleon for his wood-lice.

That afternoon, Scorpius heaped all his ingredients in a beloved pile and took them with him to the library. He was determined on doing some research on how to use them properly, with the vision horrified look on Rose Weasley's face as Astrakhan proclaimed him top of the class driving him on. As the sun slowly sank over the horizon, and the lines grew wavy before his eyes, Scorpius heaved a huge yawn and decided that it was time he headed up to bed. He closed the hefty book of potions and got up from his seat to return it to its proper shelf, leaving his ingredients unattended.

Perhaps it was the exhaustion of studying potions, or perhaps he'd just gotten less paranoid over the years, but it was only when he'd returned to his seat that Scorpius realized he had made a huge mistake.

They were all gone. Bowtruckle wood-lice and everything.

Scorpius froze in rage and horror. Who on bloody earth would be so desperate? Wasn't Hogwarts supposed to preach student integrity? Scorpius let out a loud growl of rage and kicked the nearest book-shelf, which prompted a cough from the librarian.

"Quiet!"

Furious that all his hard-work had been undermined because of some pathetic loser, Scorpius packed up his papers and stormed out of the library. It was all the more frustrating that it was deserted so that he wasn't able to yell at anyone.

Then, he stopped, realizing that his eyes had registered something.

He turned back and saw it.

A flash of golden-red hair disappearing behind a stack of books. Rose Weasley.

Scorpius gnashed his teeth, his fists clenching. This was too low, even for her.

AAA.

He returned to the dormitory still in a rage. The only person in the room was Al, sitting cross-legged over his covers and poring over the latest Quidditch issue.

At the sight of his familiar red hair (that ridiculous family gene), Scorpius stormed over and ripped away the issue from Al's fingers.

"What-" Al started, his mouth opening in shock and confusion.

"I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be bloody _moral_ and all that," seethed Scorpius, his white blond hair falling out of its neat shape in tendrils around his face.

Al's confusion morphed into irritation. "Good to know. Can I have my Quidditch magazine back?"

"Don't piss me off, Potter, I mean it," snarled Scorpius, "I actually worked my arse off for this ridiculous Potions assessment, and your bloody cousin goes ahead and nicks everything just because she wants to see me fail. Can't handle that ego of hers, that cow Rose Weasley."

Al took in his words slowly, and then, after a long pause: "Rose wouldn't do that."

"Oh, right. I forgot. She's a _Weasley_. You're all bloody saints, aren't you? Too busy knitting socks for orphan children and saving kicked puppies from Death-Eaters. That's right. Weasley would never sabotage a fellow student to be top of the class. She's too clever and _good_."

Al exhaled calmly, watching Scorpius with cautious eyes. "Alright, even if she did do it, there's a way to solve all this. Can't you just go buy a fresh set of ingredients?"

"The Potions store-room is _closed_, you dim-wit. The mid-terms start tomorrow and students aren't allowed to receive any more extra help." Scorpius closed his eyes, the gravity of the situation falling on him. He was actually going to fail. Him, the brilliant student who'd simply wanted to make more of himself besides his last name.

"So what do you want me to do about it?" asked Al, and the disdainful note in his tone reminded Scorpius of all the times he had tortured the redheaded boy, all the morning wake-up calls and intentional hexes.

"Tell her to give it _back_."

"What? Am I telepathic? We're not allowed out of the dormitories after-hours, you know. It's against the rules."

"I don't care about the stupid rules," groaned Scorpius, flopping down his bed. Oh god, he didn't even care about looking so pathetic in front of Potter. He was honestly going to have to repeat second-year Potions. Bloody Astrakhan.

Al sat on his bed in silence. There was a very strange expression on his face, half-grimace half-thoughtfulness, as if he was wrestling an inner battle.

"Well there's-" he started, but then his green eyes flashed in sudden awareness of what he was doing and his face grew impassive. "Never mind. Nothing."

"What? What is it?" Scorpius prodded, jerking his torso up to a sitting position. _Why are you asking _him? A small voice in the back of his mind taunted, _He's the class idiot. _Scorpius shook his head slightly, clearing the thoughts away. "Spit it out, Potter."

Al gritted his teeth and clenched his hands as though he was about to commit a heinous crime. "Alright, fine. I can't believe—I can't believe I'm doing this—for _you_ of all people-" He got up, knelt before his trunk, and promptly began rummaging through his clothes still muttering to himself.

Scorpius raised his eyebrows. "You're not going to ask me to model your underwear, are you? Because I'm really not that gullible."

He heard a dry click resonate from Al's trunk, and the redheaded boy stiffened from the sound. Scorpius stood up, his curiosity getting the better of him. It didn't sound like an ordinary lock, but something more. Something secretive.

Al sighed. Without turning around, he said in a deadened, dull voice: "You swear that you won't tell anyone about this."

Scorpius frowned. Now, what an odd dilemma. Something potentially embarrassing about Potter, and him forced not to speak about it? "You're going to ask _me_ to comply to such a request?"

"I mean it, Malfoy. I'm doing this so that you don't look like a laughingstock in front of everybody tomorrow. Don't make me regret it."

Scorpius was dying to know what was in Al's hands. "Fine, Potter. Mum's the word. What in Merlin's name do you have there? A weapon?"

Al murmured something under his breath, and the faint sigh of a spell being cast echoed quietly through the room. The boy turned around slowly and presented what he'd had clasped in his hands. At first, Scorpius was disappointed. It was a moldy, dry shit of a parchment, but then he registered the thin blue lines racing across the page and his eyes widened, watching the lines intersecting and conjoining with one another, until they became constructed illustrations of corridors and rooms and—

"How about a map?" said Al with a wry grin.

AAA.

"The Marauders' Map? That actually _exists_?"

"Keep your voice down," commanded Al quietly, consulting the parchment with trained eyes before he ducked around the nearest corridor.

"I thought it was just some ludicrous legend the tabloids picked up. The biographies about Harry Potter do get more and more preposterous every year."

Al sighed, stopping in his tracks. "Look, my dad wouldn't want it going around that an item like this is still around. It's a valuable tool, not to mention a priceless artifact from the war era. He'd have all sorts of people crowding around his doorstep bartering for prices. That's why I _asked_ you for your indiscretion."

"Well, I promised not to blabber it to the whole world, so sod off," retorted Scorpius irritably, "Are you as unreasonable as your pajamas?" He'd added the last jab because he felt it was deserved. Al's night-wear was atrocious. It was a long, furry maroon thing that hung off his skinny limbs, trailing along the stone floors. Thankfully, most of it was concealed by the oversized jacket Al had put on—did the boy have nothing that fit his size? A small part in the corner of Scorpius' brain wondered why on earth Al had consigned to helping him. He wasn't actly making it easy for the Potter boy.

"And another thing," said Al. He halted abruptly and whirled around, staring Scorpius down with stern, bottle-green eyes. "Just because we'll be able to know when a professor is heading our way doesn't mean we don't have to be careful. My father had an invisibility cloak so he had a slight advantage, but it'll certainly be a problem for us if we don't mind ourselves, so for all our best interests, _shut up_."

"Fine," replied Scorpius curtly, realizing with an ironic twist that Al had the upper-hand for the first time in their relationship. "So now that we're sufficiently breaking the rules, where to first?"

They headed out to the snow-laden grounds through a secret passageway that was hidden behind a medieval tapestry (Scorpius tried his best to conceal his wonder). One-by-one, as meticulously as Scorpius had done it the first time, the two boys collected all of the ingredients for tomorrow's assessment. The freezing temperatures forced them to work fast and efficiently, and between intervals, the cold would be so unbearable they would have to warm themselves up by taking respite back in the castle's passageway. It was a rather surreal experience for Scorpius, who had to convince himself multiple times during the night that this was reality, that he really _was_ sneaking off on school grounds and doing something remarkably bad-ass with a boy he never would have considered bad-ass at all.

The hours passed with minimal chatting, as both of them had it in their heads that the sooner they could get this finished, the faster they'd be back in their snug, coal-heated beds. It was only after they had managed to locate a nest of lace-wing flies and had trapped the winged buggers that Al initiated conversation.

"We're rather lucky," he remarked, capping the jar of flies with a satisfied clunk, "They don't normally nest openly in such cold weather."

Scorpius raised his eyebrow at this tidbit of knowledge, unsure of whether he ought to be impressed or bothered that Al had exceeded his expectations. Instead, he found himself asking an entirely different question:

"Why are you out here helping me? I'm not exactly your favorite person."

Al took his time to answer, as always. "It's easier to help someone who's a fellow classmate than an enemy. Classmates are more relatable. Look at you now. It's the first time I've ever seen your knickers in a twist over an assignment."

"And I'm usually not?"

"No, you're usually a know-it-all git."

A grin tugged at Scorpius' mouth. "I see."

"Why do you care so much about this, anyway? Don't say it's because you want to pass Potions, because that can't be it. Why do you need to be the absolute _best_?"

"So I can beat Weasley." The answer came so quickly to him that Scorpius didn't even have to think. He frowned, pondering over his own words.

Al chuckled. "That's stupid. You should never do something because of someone else's actions."

"Wrong. What others do will always affect your own actions. It's inevitable. So why not take control over the situation, refuse to be belittled by others?"

"When you rank yourself to others, it's that mentality that allows you to feel belittled."

"Look Potter," Scorpius cut in sharply, and for the first time that evening, he lost all his sarcastic joviality. "I don't expect you, or anyone who comes from a family like yours, to understand. You've never had to deal with what it feels like when everyone thinks you're inferior, to _struggle_ your whole life just to prove you can be better. Do you understand? Weasley…Weasley looks at me like I'm a flobberworm, but even then, it's got nothing to do with my grades. So if there's one thing that I get to beat her in, one thing that allows me to stand over her and look at her the way she looks at me, I'd take it. I'd take it so that no one has a reason to think I don't deserve being here."

Al met these words with silence, and his breath spiraled emptily into the crisp air. He wore a look of contemplation, as though Scorpius' words had disturbed him.

Then, he cracked a smile. "What if she's not the one for you to beat?"

Scorpius let out a _pfft_ of air. "Does it matter? In my head, she is."

Al shook the dark red strands out of his eyes, still wearing that smile. "You're mental, Malfoy." He reached into his pocket and drew out a watch, glancing briefly at its surface. "Well it's half-past one, and we've got one more left."

Scorpius exhaled. "Bowtruckle wood-lice. Forget it, Potter. I've gone and tried that one. I don't mind getting marked down for that one."

Al snorted, and took out the map from his pocket, smoothing it out with his mittens. "Don't just assume everyone's like you, just because you've 'gone and tried it'. I happen to know the location of a very healthy Bowtruckle nest."

Scorpius eyed Al up and down in disbelief. "I don't believe it." _This is the last time Albus Potter ever gets the best of me. _

Al shrugged again, his eyes twinkling. "I might not receive the best scores in Care of Magical Creatures, but I at least pay attention."

With that, Scorpius followed Al down a steep, stony path, a path that was so narrow that it was nearly completely obscured by a fresh snowfall. Several times, Scorpius found himself slipping on the black icy steps and had to right himself quickly so that the Potter boy wouldn't notice. Al, on the other hand, navigated the road with ease, barely stopping to look away from the Marauder's Map. It was as if he had trekked down the path many times before.

"Here we are," announced Al abruptly and halted, causing Scorpius' face to collide into the back of his neck.

They stood before a grove of tall oak trees. The naked, spindly branches stood out against the silvery quality of a night sky illuminated by moonlight. It was a haunting picture.

"How do you know about this place?" breathed Scorpius, trying to keep the awe from his voice.

Al walked up to a particularly gnarled oak and pressed his ear up against the wood. "Carpathia takes me here sometimes. She likes to spend time near the forest, drawing sketches of magical creatures, and the like. She's a natural with animals you know."

_Ah,_ thought Scorpius, _so it wasn't him, not really. He just had a good friend to help him out all along_. The idea was reassuring.

Al tapped the wood gently with his knuckle, his ear still pressed against its surface. After several long moments of nothingness, in which Scorpius struggled not to burst into a fit of laughter, there was an ominous creak of wood that seemed to resonate from—_inside_—the tree, and then a sizable, fast-moving object whizzed out of nowhere, accompanied by a sharp cry of glee, nearly colliding into Scorpius' head.

The blond boy gasped in shock as he ducked away, trying to stay on his feet. The creature was now perched on one of the trees branches, overlooking the two boys with its beady, black eyes. It was an elfish looking thing, but so finely crafted out of wood that it looked almost delicate, as if a simple bat of the hand could shatter the million tiny twigs that made up its bones and sinews. It held up one spindly hand, and Scorpius quickly retracted the last observation. The bowtruckle's fingertips were lined with thorns. Delicate indeed.

Al bowed deeply and motioned with one hand for the Bowtruckle's attention. The Bowtruckle's eyes snapped towards Al, registering his presence for a few seconds, and then it leaped off its perch, fluttering down next to Al's ear on thin, silvery wings. The redheaded boy whispered something unintelligible for several long moments, and Scorpius watched them from several meters away, unaware that his mouth was hanging open. The Bowtruckle abruptly flashed the two of them pointy looks, and then with a hiss, it fluttered back to its hiding-spot within the giant oak.

Scorpius cleared his throat. "Well, nice try, Potter. Good-"

"Shh," interrupted Al, holding up a hand to silence him. The creak of wood resonated again, and the Bowtruckle was back, bearing what seemed like a dozen, golden pieces of caramelized wood. Al held out his hand again, this time with what seemed like an offering. The bowtruckle regarded it for several long moments, then cackled gleefully and snatched the offering into its long, spindly fingers. From a distance, Scorpius thought he something shiny and glittering. The pixie then fluttered over to Scorpius, who held out his hand despite his discomfort with being in such close proximity to the creature. It's beady eyes seemed malicious and cunning. The Bowtruckle dumped the pile of wood-lice onto his palm, and Scorpius flinched slightly as its thorny fingertips grazed his own skin. Then, seeing its work done, the Bowtruckle uttered a small whistle and darted back into its hiding-hole once more.

Scorpius let out the breath that he was holding. He turned to look at Al, who seemed equally disoriented but wore a smile of content.

"That's everything, I think," he said. "Come on, I think we ought to head to bed now. With an exam tomorrow and all."

"Right," replied Scorpius, nodding. It was only then when a deep-seated sense of relief flooded the pit of his stomach. He exhaled, knowing that he was all prepared for tomorrow's exam just as he'd been six hours before.

The two boys trekked back to the castle soundlessly, keeping a good look-out for any professors. The warmth of the corridors had melted the chills off their bones, but it was only after they had reached the Slytherin common-room and the familiar green walls closed in on them that Scorpius allowed himself to experience any sense of fatigue.

"_Mischief managed_," muttered Al as the common-room door closed behind him, and the Marauder's Map folded itself back neatly up, indicating the close of nighttime adventures.

Scorpius yawned widely and stretched out his arms, feeling the weight of the few hours till the exam press down on him. "We better get some sleep, Potter."

"Yeah," murmured Al, already stripped down to his pajamas and looking as though he was going to collapse on the spot.

"And Potter?"

"Hmm?"

Scorpius' mouth curled into a wry smile. "I guess you're not the class idiot after all."

Al scoffed, but even that was half-hearted in the midst of his exhaustion. He settled for waving an arm dismissively at the blond-haired boy, and then disappeared into their boy's dormitory, no doubt proceeding to fall straight to his bed into slumber.

Scorpius stood rooted in the common-room for several more moments, reflecting on the night's events with a small grin. Albus bloody Potter, indeed.

AAA.

On the day of the Potions practical assessment, Scorpius found himself strangely revitalized despite the grey circles under his eyes. The events of last night felt like a distant dream, as if the harsh glare of the winter morning light had evaporated all traces of him and Al's late-night excursion. The two boys barely exchanged words, save for a quick murmur of apology from Al when he bumped into Scorpius on the way to the bathroom.

"Potter looks tired," commented Gareth as he slipped on his school robes.

"Poor sod probably stayed up all night studying," smirked Scorpius, and just like that, all seemed to revert back to normal.

He wasn't the only one. Scorpius noted the tired, haggard faces of his classmates as they filed into Astrakhan's classroom with him, and came to the same conclusion. Good grief, had second-years ever worked so hard? The only face that stood out from the crowd was Rose Weasley's, fresh and wide-awake, her hair pulled back into a crisp bun. Her brown eyes were fixed absent-mindedly in the distance, as if she had something better to think about than the current task at hand. Scorpius' mouth tightened as a hot flash of fury reminded him of the incident at the library yesterday.

His brow stiffened in determination.

Incidentally (though Scorpius suspected that Astrakhan had intentionally placed it that way), he found himself placed next to the girl. _Good_, he thought, _it'll be easier that way_. Once more, he reflected on the conflicted position Rose had in his life, as both his tormentor and motivator.

"Good morning class," grinned Astrakhan, waving a hand over the class to silence the last-minute hurried exchanges of notes and properties. "Doomsday has arrived."

Gareth uttered a weak chuckle.

"You will find the instructions written on the board," continued Astrakhan, waving his wand speculatively at the board. Instantly, white lines of impeccable cursive etched themselves onto the black. It looked disastrously complicated. "Now, take out your ingredients."

There was a clumsy clattering of jars and bowls as students placed their collections on the desk. Astrakhan slowly went around the room counting the number of ingredients all the students had managed to acquire, making a small note on his clipboard as he did so. Most students had undoubtedly purchased most of their ingredients at the Potions store-rooms, as evident by the insignia of the Hogwarts crest on their jars.

"I see many of you are now walking around with lighter pockets," smirked Astrakhan. Amanda Longbottom flushed as the Potions Master tutted after noting the fact that her desk only contained four of the ten ingredients required. "And some of you are going to have to ask mummy and daddy to owl more pocket-money."

A small smile of self-knowing lit up Rose's face. Scorpius noticed this, and eyed the ingredients on her task, scowling.

When Astrakhan had returned to his place at the front of the room, he placed the three flasks of Drinkable Light on his desk as a reminder to the entire room as to what their incentive was. Then, he turned to the class and pointed towards the clock. "You have an hour." He waved a hand, and then: "Begin."

Cauldrons materialized in front of them, and immediately the room fell into a hushed rigor of slicing and mixing and liquids sloshing back and forth. Scorpius found himself conducting the first three lines of instructions with ease. _Chop pumpkin vine into quarters. Pluck wings off flies. Measure three teaspoons of essence of moonroot_. Gradually, his shoulders relaxed. _It's not so bad_, he thought, though he felt a distinct nagging sensation in the back of his mind_._ He was skimming along the instructions at a decent pace, well ahead many of the students in the classroom. His potion was proceeding exactly as it should be. Spoonful of lacewing flies. Sir counter-clockwise. Boil wood-lice to a simmer. Chop beetroots. Strip away the pumpkin vine. Add in lacewing flies. Stir.

As the clock ticked past the three-quarter mark of an hour, the nagging steadily grew more persistent. Scorpius frowned and put down his materials. He had been trying to extract juice from beetroot, but now all he could do was try to work out what it was exactly that was bothering him so. Then he glanced over at the desk adjacent to his and it hit him with a sudden realization. Weasley.

He'd been under the assumption that he was pulling ahead, but now he saw that Rose was brewing the potion at the exact same pace as he was. He stared in shock as she bent over her cluttered table with a beetroot in her one hand and a carving knife in her other, her posture exactly mimicking his own. The girl was mumbling to herself as she worked, her red hair spilling out of its bun in agitation. How could she have caught up to him so quickly? Was there no way he could rid himself of her on his tail?

"Eyes off, Malfoy," she snapped, keeping her voice low. She hadn't even bothered to look up from her station.

Scorpius gritted his teeth. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Really? It looked like you were sneaking a peek there. It wouldn't be fair if you cheated your way to the top."

Scorpius' hand tightened around his carving knife. "You weren't exactly preaching a moral code when you nicked my ingredients the other day."

"I—_what_?"

"Oh get off your high horse, Weasley. You know exactly what I'm talking about," hissed Scorpius, careful to stay out of earshot of Astrakhan. He slammed the beetroot on his table and began hacking at it viciously, imagining it to be that ruddy, freckled face.

"No I _don't_. I would _never-_" spluttered Rose furiously, finally turning back to face him with an indignant expression.

_Don't look, Scorpius_, he thought to himself vehemently. He stirred. Added in the beetroot. Squeezed juice. Stir again.

"I can't believe you'd think I'd stoop so low-"

How many stirs was it again? Nevermind that. Add beetroot. Squeeze juice. Counter-clockwise.

"Just because it's something scum like you would do-"

That was it. Scorpius whirled to face her, and his elbow caught the glass vial of lace-wing flies on her table. There was a splinter of glass as the jar hit the floor, exploding shards everywhere. Rose cried out, "You did that on purpose!"

Her eyes had widened in horror. Already, tears of anger were pooling in them. She knelt on the ground, touching the scattered lace-flies with shaking hands.

Scorpius stood over her, his gaze cold. "Sorry." _I'm not. I'm not and I never will be. Not to you. _

"Nevermind that, Weasley," snapped Astrakhan, striding over and observing the spectacle. He sighed exasperatedly and glanced at the clock. "Accidents happen in the potions room. It was foolish to place your vials so close to the edge of the table. Now chop chop, you've got five minutes left."

As the assessment came to a close, Scorpius found himself unable to concentrate. He supposed he should have experienced some guilt, but all he felt was a knot of cold hatred in his heart. He glanced up once to see Al's face studying his, a look of perturbed disapproval evident in his green eyes. It only made Scorpius all the more frustrated, and he turned back to his cauldron, strands of his hair falling in his face in the midst of all the steam rising from his potion. _They're all the same, really. All part of the same bloody family. _When Astrakhan called time, Scorpius was relieved that his potion looked the way it was supposed to. It was the right color, at least, and only smoking lightly.

He sat back on his chair, cheeks flushed, and wiped the sweat from his brow. All around him, students were chattering in excitement and nervous anticipation. There were several students who had their heads rested on their table, confined under their arms. They were the ones who had simply given up, like Amanda Longbottom and Albus Potter. Scorpius didn't want to look over at Rose Weasley, but he could feel her body shaking from outrage. Her hands were clenched and rested in her lap. _Good riddance_.

Astrakhan made his rounds in the classroom, stopping by each students' desk and dropping in his criticism now and then. He scribbled notes down on his clipboard as he did so. Scorpius barely heard any of it.

Finally, the Potions Master had arrived at his and Rose's station. Scorpius dared to sneak a peek at Rose's face. It was contorted in a tight grimace, like she was trying not to burst into tears. A light flush had crept across her cheeks.

"Your Memory Restoration potions are adequate," commented Astrakhan, sniffing the cauldrons alternatively, "Of course, both of you failed to complete one task amongst the instructions I provided. For you, Mrs. Weasley, it was the lacewing flies. As you can see, without that particular ingredient, your potion lacks that faintly olive hue of one that is perfectly brewed." Rose's flushed face turned all the more redder. Her lips were pursed together, as though she was mustering all her strength not to speak. Astrakhan continued: "Mr. Malfoy, I am surprised by your carelessness. Your potion would have been flawless if it had not been for the fact that you forgot to stir clockwise after adding beetroot juice. A pity, as now this makes the potion less than half effective than it would have been. Hardly anything I'd send over to St. Mungo's."

Scorpius felt his heart drop to his stomach. _Idiot_! He cursed himself, both shamed and outraged at how easily distracted he had been.

"Nevertheless, they are better than the average quality of potions brewed amongst your peers. I daresay both of you will receive satisfactory marks."

"So who receives the reward, sir?" blurted out Scorpius, unable to hold back any longer. "Was Weasley or I better?"

Astrakhan snorted and exhaled impatiently. "Oh for pity's sake, Malfoy, does it really matter all that much? Neither of you two will receive the reward."

"But you said we were the top two of the class!" protested Scorpius indignantly.

"Correction: I said you were _among the top three_," said Astrkhan dryly. "Really, if you weren't so preoccupied with beating Ms. Weasley, you would have paid more attention to who your real opponent was. As for the top student of the class, I am afraid he has remained undefeated since last year's final exams. Mr. Potter, if you would please collect your reward."

Scorpius thought that he had heard incorrectly. "_Potter_?" At the same time, Rose exclaimed: "Al!"

Al walked tentatively up to where Astrakhan was standing, collecting the three silver flasks of Drinkable Light in his arms. Unbelievably, the Potions Master flashed him a look that was almost akin to satisfaction. The entire class murmured words of respect. Some of the Slytherins, including Lucas, were looking at Al with faint smiles on their faces, reveling in the fact that he was one of their own. Vera leaned over to shake Al's hand, her eyes glazed over in admiration. Al himself was the picture of humility; his face seemed to close in on itself in embarassment, and a pink flush graced his freckled cheeks. It was only when he passed by Scorpius' desk did he show any sign of registering his victory. His face flashed into what was the faintest of triumphant smiles, and it was at that moment that Scorpius remembered the boy's words from the night before:

_What if she's not the one for you to beat?_

Bloody hell, Scorpius thought, watching the boy pass by his peers and out the door as if there were a carpet laid out for him. He vaguely realized that his mouth was still hanging open. _He's fooled us all._

_AAA._

As the Winter holidays begun, the student population in the castle gradually thinned out as more and more returned home for the holidays. For his second year in a row, Scorpius opted to stay at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, it happened that none of the other Slytherin second-years boys were doing the same, except for Al. This resulted in an awkward situation in which Scorpius and Albus became the only two boys left in their dorm.

As strange as it was, Scorpius found himself reluctant to exercise any sort of torment on the redheaded boy. He realized that his antics had seemed all the more satisfying when there had been an audience around to witness it, but more importantly, the entire Potions incident had caused Scorpius to feel a grudging sense of respect for Al. As a result, the two boys found themselves coexisting in a manner that required them to interact with each other as minimally as possible. Al and Scorpius would roll out of bed in the morning, grunt their morning greetings in passing before leaving the dorms, and then return at nightfall just to acknowledge one another with brief nods before falling sleep. They never spoke of their late-night adventure, or the Marauder's Map. It was, all in all, quite a functional system.

On Christmas morning, Scorpius awoke to find his windowsill empty. He sat in bed for several long moments, his eyes fixed on the spot where Mrs. Malfoy's owl should have been perched, with a gift tied to its leg. Finally, he resigned himself to heading towards the common-room-past a gaggle of first-year Slytherin girls who were exclaiming over their newly-unwrapped presents-and flopped down on an armchair across the fireplace.

All around him were signs of Christmas. The tree in the center of the room complemented the emerald walls perfectly. Laughter and sounds of teeth munching on snacks echoed throughout the threshold. Wrappings and broken plastic boxes lay scattered across carpet. From the floor, Scorpius picked up a sliver of silver wrapping paper and watched the firelight cast flickering shadows across its smooth surface. In its reflection, he saw his own contemplative expression as thoughts of home flashed through his mind.

He heard a thump to his right as a body settled into the armchair beside him. The firelight was so potent that he didn't even need to turn to register the glare of red hair.

"Wotcher, Potter."

"Hullo," replied Al, his mouth full of food. "Would you like a candy-cane?"

Scorpius opened his mouth to retort but when he turned and looked at Al, he immediately snorted. Al looked completely ridiculous. He was wearing an oversized maroon sweater that was identical to Rose's—with a huge yellow W plastered on its front—and dangling around his neck were an assortment of presents, from omnoculars to a giant gold locket shaped like a heart. In his hand was an assortment of candy-canes in every color imaginable. He was holding them out to Scorpius, his face expectant.

"Look what the holiday season threw up," said Scorpius sardonically. "For God's sake, Potter, do you have to trod around carrying your weight in presents?"

"I have a lot of cousins," muttered Al abashedly.

"Obviously. Did one of those cousins give you that gold locket? It's dashing, truly."

"That was my sister."

"And that hideous sweater?"

"My mum."

"Ah." Scorpius felt a hot prick of jealousy. "You could have at least had it made in green. In maroon, it's possibly the ugliest piece of fashion-wear I've ever seen."

"It is," admitted Al dejectedly. "Do you want it?"

Scorpius found himself laughing unexpectedly. "Hell, no." He cocked his head and ran his eyes over all of the presents in Al's arms. "But if you're in the giving mood, _that_ looks wicked." He pointed at what looked like an assortment of tiny glass domes that Al was holding in his other palm.

"Absolutely not," replied Al firmly, and his grip tightened on the glass domes as he appraised fondly.

"What are they?"

"Kindlechime eggs." At Scorpius' quizzical look, Al added with a pleased smile: "They're songbirds made out of glass. You feed them some glass shards from time to time, and they're meant to live about a month or two before they shatter. Thia gave them to me."

"Cool," said Scorpius quite sincerely. _Bowtruckles, and now kindlechime eggs. What's next? Dragons?_ "Trust Carpathia to find something completely out of the ordinary."

"Where are your presents?"

Scorpius spread his arms around him and replied with a twisted smile: "I don't need any, obviously. I was blessed with the gifts of good looks, charm, and intelligence, and my mother thinks that's enough."

Thank goodness Al had the decency not to look sympathetic. If Scorpius had detected even a smidgen of pity, he was sure that he would have punched Potter in the face. Instead, Al shrugged once in that ambiguous way of his and continued chewing on his candy-cane.

There was a moment of silence, and then Al said: "Thanks, by the way."

"For what?"

"For not telling anyone about the map."

"Oh. Right."

"And if—you know—" Al stuttered, turning slightly pink, "If you ever need to use it, you can just-"

"I got it," interrupted Scorpius. He felt slightly embarrassed over the fact that Al's words had lightened the dark mood in his heart just a little. _He's too kind for his own good_, the unbidden thought rose in his mind, and for a moment, Scorpius felt a twinge of regret for all the unnecessary havoc he'd wreaked on the boy. A gift was still a gift, regardless of how strange and trivial it was, and it was the only gift he'd received this lonely Christmas.

"Thank you, as well. For everything." The words were clumsy and foreign to his ears as he uttered them. He wasn't one to be sentimental.

"It's alright."

There was a pregnant silence between them.

"It's been a strange winter, hasn't it?" quipped Scorpius, a weak attempt to inject some humor into what had almost been an intimate moment.

"I think we're better off being enemies again when term starts," commented Al with a slight chuckle. "Friendly doesn't quite suit us."

"Agreed."

"But since it's still winter, and we're the only two Slytherin boys left in our year, I thought maybe…" Al hesitated, in the remarkably same manner as he had before he'd presented the Marauder's Map, and then drew out his next words slowly, "…maybe you'd want to share a flask of this." Al drew out one of the silver vials of Drinkable Light that he had won from Astrakhan's potions assessment. The shimmering liquid swirled and danced in the vial like a pale, translucent serpent.

Scorpius glanced sideways at Al with a frown. "You're not going charitable on me just because I haven't got any presents from mummy, are you? Because if you are, I'd be happy to hex you just to remind you where we still stand."

Scorpius' acidic comment seemed to straighten Al up, as though he had suddenly remembered how to stand up for himself. The redheaded boy snorted and rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Malfoy. Just think of it as a nice gesture for a fellow classmate."

"I seem to be getting that a lot from you, lately."

Nevertheless, Scorpius waved his wand and summoned over two goblets. Al poured the potion into the goblets in measured, even doses. _Like a proper potioneer_, thought Scorpius dryly. The two boys raised their goblets, and above the sparkling liquid, their eyes met. Green and pale-blue.

"Merry Christmas, Potter."

"Merry Christmas, Malfoy."

&&& Fin

**I'm so sorry it took so long for me to update! I've been having a really rough year, and I finally had some space to breathe after getting into Uni (which you can probably tell, judging by the heavy focus on **_**school**_** in this chapter). **

**Thank you for all the wonderful reviews and people who have followed the story (despite my long hiatus, I hope it doesn't recur again). For those of you wondering why I had Al written as a redhead and not dark-haired as it is the book, it was mainly to emphasize how ordinary he felt being a member of the many, many redheads in the Weasley family (unlike James, who constantly stands out as the only dark-haired boy, which also reflects his personality as always having to be in the spotlight). Also, the whole idea of Malfoys feeling contempt for redheads kind of made the Scorpius-Al enmity thing stronger, although I may have just forgotten in the first place. There may be more inconsistencies in the details between the story and the book, so you all will have to bear with me. I particularly wanted to bring the Marauder's Map back into the Potter Universe, because I've always loved having it around and it becomes relevant in the story later on. **

**Anyway, chapter 5 will be up soon depicting the boys' third-year at Hogwarts! I'm skipping ahead the early-years so that all that delicious, adolescent drama can really drive the story on. **

**Thanks again, everybody! **

**Love, **

**Missuswitch**


	5. Third Time's A Charm

**Third Time's a Charm: **

Throughout her childhood, Rose had been told that she was very much like her mother.

In all truthfulness, the similarities were endless. Rose possessed an extremely down-to-earth quality when it came to her words and actions, just like her mother. She was never concerned with her wardrobe or her hair (at least not like her cousins Dominique and Roxanne), just like her mother. She even preferred the company of boys to girls, just like her mother. Rose had her mother's hazel eyes, her mother's height, her mother's petite facial structure, even her laugh. But most importantly, Rose was remarkably intelligent, and that trademark—undoubtedly—made her her mother's daughter.

It was no wonder that people saw reason to point any of this, as there was plenty of evidence to support the matter, nor did they see anything wrong with it. How could they? Hermione Granger-Weasley was one of the most accomplished witches of her time. A former war-hero. An advocator of elf-rights. One of the most renowned prosecutors in Wizengamot of all time.

But comparisons can be tricky, and it wasn't long before Rose started to see that with each comparison made between her and her mother, the more aspects of her were being swallowed up by Hermione Granger-Weasley's shadow. Did it matter that she was the only first-year that had been able to trasnfigure a thumbnail into a butterfly on her first try? It was expected; her mother was the cleverest witch of her age! Or what about the fact that she had joined the Hogwarts Duelling Club and disarmed a fifth-year when she was twelve years old? But that, too, could only be _customary_ for the offspring of the Wizarding World's most prominent heroes.

It was almost outrageous, really, how much of her belonged to her family's accomplishments.

And so the quiet rebellion began. To her mother's horror, Rose received five detentions after the winter holidays in her second year for hexing Scorpius Malfoy and locking him in a broom cupboard for an entire evening. She convinced Al into lending her the Marauder's map, snuck out into Hogsmeade with Fred and James, and ended up piercing her ears. In addition, she had permanently straightened out the curly locks she had been born with, so that her reddish-gold hair now fell in slender tendrils around her face. The rebellion continued in her third-year when Rose purposely requested Divination to be part of her timetable, knowing it was a class her mother had performed miserably in (though after several sessions, she herself admitted that it was the most ridiculous class she'd ever attended). It seemed that Rose was determined to leave a legacy that was just as crooked as her mother's had been straight-edged. The only aspect of herself that she refused to change was her academic performance. _That_ piece of the genetic pie was one she would keep for herself.

Though she had never told him, Rose secretly envied Al. True, the boy had gone through several eras of hell, but it was him who had managed to break free of the 'Weasley clan' label. It might not have been ideal, getting sorted into Slytherin, but Rose had often contemplated whether his lifestyle was preferable to her almost-invisible existence amongst the countless other Weasley-Potters in Gryffindor. These thoughts that raced through her mind at night were often accompanied by feelings of guilt. How could she think that, after having made such wonderful friends here in Gryffindor? She'd be nothing without Drew and Rowan, her best mates. Poor Drew would have no one to laugh at his second-rate jokes, and Rowan—well, who else could curb her crazy tempers? And yet, the feeling was still there. That burning desire.

To be unique.

Gradually over time, Rose's resentment over the phrase 'just like your mother' dimmed down to the point where she was able to swallow her distaste for it. When she turned thirteen and transitioned into the early years of adolescence, the slivers of personality that deviated her from her mother amplified. Despite the cool-headed logic that they both shared, Rose possessed a smaller capacity for emotional tolerance than Hermione, which ultimately made her feistier, wilder, and well-_meaner_. Her sarcastic humor also provided a significant contrast to her mother's infallible optimism, which allowed for uncomfortable conversations at the dinner table. The most obvious difference, however, emerged when Rose was selected for the Gryffindor Quidditch team as Chaser…for despite her mother's many accomplishments, Hermione Granger-Weasley would have never touched a broomstick voluntarily.

It was this thought that allowed Rose to relish every moment on the Quidditch pitch, even during the most mundane of practices. On this particular day, she had invited Al for private practice in preparation for the match against Slytherin that was scheduled for the following week.

"I really don't feel comfortable doing this," Al was saying, "Are you sure you don't want to put on protective head-gear or something?" He was floating in mid-air across from her, struggling to keep a Bludger in his arms as it squirmed for freedom.

"_Please_, Al. I'm going to have to go through a lot worse with the Slytherins next week, no offense to you lot, but ever since Malfoy made the team…"

"He's a Seeker, Rose. He's not going to have time to whack Bludgers your way."

"For Merlin's sake, Al. Just set the bloody thing free."

"You know, Dad told me that once a Bludger nearly took out his entire arm-"

"AL!"

Al laughed, a mischievous grin appearing on his lips. _Now where had that come from? _thought Rose, but before she could think on it any further, Al let go of the Bludger and it immediately swerved in her direction, prompting her to sweep into a dive.

This was their typical routine. Dodging Bludgers first, and then Quaffle practice. After ten minutes of evading the lethal black ball, Al swooped in and captured the Bludger once more with his bare hands. It was an amazing skill, a feat that few Quidditch players could accomplish, and one that Rose valued during these private flying sessions. When the Bludger was safely secured back in its trunk, Rose released the Quaffle and eyed Al with a look that said: _ready for it?_

He nodded. She tossed the Quaffle towards him and watched him pluck it deftly from the air, barely shifting his weight in the process. As he flew past her and dutifully positioned himself on the opposite end of the field, Rose couldn't help but admire his posture.

There was something beautiful about the way Al flew. Unlike James, who conquered his opponents with brute speed and force, Al threaded through them with quiet elegance. Even on his hand-me-down broomstick, Al executed his moves with perfect grace. He never once let the Quaffle touch the ground, though on one occasion he had to pull out of a dive so sharply that his toes skimmed the grass. Rose had a feeling that Al was perhaps the best Quidditch player that Hogwarts had to offer, but she knew that it was something James would never condone.

_What a shame_, she thought, noting the way that Al's face blossomed into joy when he caught the Quaffle in his arms. She felt so protective over Al during moments like these, when she realized that the poor boy wore his heart on his face and that people like James and Scorpius constantly used that for their own exploitation.

When the sun began to lower and the two of them landed on the grass, now sweating sufficiently through their clothes, Rose couldn't restrain herself from saying:

"That was brilliant, Al. As usual. Why didn't you try out for the Slytherin team this year?" _Not that I'm complaining_, she thought, envisioning how terrifying the Slytherin team would look with Al on it.

Al grimaced and scratched his head as he often did when pondering how to answer a difficult question.

"James," he said, settling for conciseness.

Rose scowled, and the distaste she felt for the elder Potter deepened. "For God's sake, Al, you can't let him rule your life at Hogwarts. Just because he's popular and Quidditch captain, does he really have the right to threaten you not to play at all? It's mental."

"He hasn't been threatening me," muttered Al in embarrassment. "It's just that—he's got a point, you know—our whole family's rooting for Gryffindor, and it would just make it more difficult if I played against you all."

There was more to it, suspected Rose. She knew that ever since Al had been sorted into Slytherin, he had harbored an intense fear of being alienated from the Weasley clan. It explained why he never associated himself with his house-mates, even though he'd admitted that he got along very well with most of them, and why he'd chosen to befriend Rose and her mates instead.

But regardless. A majority of it was James' fault.

_James,_ who had leapt on the opportunity of Al's sorting to intimidate his younger brother even further, who liked to play on Al's fears by reminding him that his popularity had given him more pull over the Weasley clan.

_What a dreadful ritual_, thought Rose. Ever since the Potters were little, James had been obsessed with asserting dominance over Al in every aspect, and ever since he had seen Albus fly in his first-year…

James caring about family? That was complete bullshit. He cared about the fact that he was captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He definitely cared that his younger Slytherin brother possessed talent—perhaps _more_ talent than he did. But most importantly, he cared about what people would say if that younger brother beat him on the pitch one day.

All of this turned in Rose's mind, but she kept quiet. She had a feeling that this was a touchy subject for her cousin.

"So how's Malfoy faring lately?" she inquired, switching to a subject they mutually disliked. She had never forgiven that boy for terrorizing Al's first semester at Hogwarts. Ever since the incident outside of Weasley Wizard Wheezes, she'd known he would be nothing but trouble, and her encounters with him over the years (knocking over her lace-wing flies during an _exam_!) had only proven it. It didn't help that he was becoming more and more popular among the girls; she didn't even think he was _that_ good-looking, and who on earth could stand all that superficiality?

"To be honest, Rose, I think you like ranting about him more than I do," replied Al with a cocked eyebrow. "He's still an obnoxious prat, but I've gotten used to it. Believe it or not, I think his head's starting to come out of his arse. Did you know he came to me after Quidditch practice the other day and told me to try out next year? Exactly what you said."

"Did he?"

"Well, he threw his towel at me first," amended Al, "but at least it wasn't a hex." Then, his face broke into a grin: "Can't say I returned the favor though."

Rose raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Well done, Al, I'm proud of you." _When did you suddenly grow a pair?_

Suddenly, she noticed that a dark figure had appeared over the horizon and was walking in their direction. The setting sun had cast a shadow so that it was impossible for Rose to see who it was, but Al's expression instantly flashed into recognition.

"Thia! Over here!" he shouted, looking pleased as he beckoned her over.

When the newcomer had arrived, Al stood up and greeted her with a brief hug. Rose watched this exchange in amusement, and then appraised the girl with critical eyes.

She had never understood Al's friendship with Carpathia Nott, though there was nothing she had against the girl. Not really. She had shared a dormitory with her for more than two years, after all. Contrary to many of the other girls who chose not to associate with the 'misplaced Slytherin' (as they secretly called her), Rose hadn't had any qualms with exchanging bedtime conversations with Carpathia every once in awhile simply to get to know her roommate a bit better. But like many others, she was often puzzled by what she found.

It wasn't that Carpathia was shy. In fact, everyone listened when Carpathia spoke simply because she always had something radical and interesting to say. The only problem was that…well, she didn't seem to _want_ to make any friends. She didn't seem to give a shit about anyone. Except Al.

Today, Carpathia was wearing an enormous black-fringed scarf that draped over her Gryffindor robes. Her hair, which had once been brown but had been dyed ink-black, was pulled back into a ponytail, revealing now numerous silver piercings in her ears. When she shifted her head, a nose stud glittered in the light. All in all, she looked like someone that even Rose could be intimidated by. Rose couldn't imagine how someone like Al, who had cried over spiders and lizards as a young boy, would have chosen someone like Carpathia to as his best friend.

"Hello Rose," greeted Carpathia with her usual calm, "How was Quidditch practice?"

"Lovely. Planning to pummel your brother next week, if you don't mind," replied Rose cheerfully.

Carpathia nodded as if the thought didn't perturb her at all. "I sincerely hope he doesn't have the same sentiments." _It was really very odd, _thought Rose, _how the two of them could be twins and be so drastically different_. Gareth Nott was a hothead on the pitch and was known for throwing his beater's bat great distances during one of his massive temper tantrums when things didn't go his way.

Carpathia turned to Al and nudged him with a shoulder with a much more friendlier smile than the one she'd given Rose. "Did you know there was a Hogsmeade outing next weekend? It's the same day as Valentine's Day."

Al groaned, cradling his head in his hands. "Don't remind me. I've been killing myself over how to ask Isabel." He looked pointedly at Rose, as though he expected her to pipe up an answer.

Rose shrugged. "Don't look at me. It's your infatuation, not mine."

"Oh come on, Rosie! How about all the times I practiced with you on the pitch? The least you could do is return the favor. You know her quite well, don't you?"

"Not really. She's a Ravenclaw, and a year below us. I'm sure after all your gawking and stalk-fests, you know her much better than I do."

"I've seen the two of you hang out together."

"I'm not sure ''hanging' is the right word."

Rose wasn't sure when Al's obsession with Isabel Marrieto had started, and whether she entirely approved of it. From what Rose knew of Isabel, she was a pretty girl of Italian descent with ivory skin and long, brown hair (also rather well-endowed in the brain department, thank goodness). The only problem was that she fell under the category of what the Weasley Clan liked to call 'the family groupies'. Like quite a few Hogwarts students, Isabel regarded the Potter-Weasley children as semi-celebrities, and harbored a deep desire to get better acquainted with them. As a result, she saw Rose as some sort of idol. The girl would practically leap across tables to exchange a few words with Rose during dinnertime, and made a rather laughable attempt in shaking Rose's hand every-time they passed each other in the hallway. Rose also knew she was among the young Gryffindor girls who would giggle and whisper to one another everytime James Potter passed by, which Rose saw as nothing short of idiocy.

This put Rose in an awkward position of mediating her cousin's feelings against her knowledge of feminine wiles. Poor Al, who made his adoration so dreadfully obvious, was oblivious to the fact that everyone—even the object of his affections—already knew about his crush. Rose just didn't have the heart to break it to him.

"So how do you think I should—you know—tell her?" Al was asking.

"I think you should make it simple," offered Carpathia with a smile twitching at her lips, "A note, maybe, with a signed autograph."

"Right, yeah." Al nodded seriously, unaware of Carpathia's subtle jab. "Simple. A note…and some flowers and chocolates, maybe? Would that do the trick?"

"Probably."

There was something about the way Carpathia was speaking that made Rose's ears prick up. An undercurrent of emotion, perhaps. As Al excitedly began brainstorming ideas, Rose sharpened her gaze on Carpathia's face but found it to be as neutral as ever.

"…what about you, Rose?"

At the sound of her name, Rose snapped out of her reverie and quickly scrambled for words: "Oh, er, yes. What are we on about?"

Al nudged her teasingly. "I asked if you had any Valentines' Day plans."

Rose sighed wistfully. "Afraid not. I'll be spending my Hogsmeade afternoon with the lads. It'll be a lovely day full of Butterbeer, male humor, and avoiding Malfoy so he doesn't throw a jinx my way."

"I doubt it. I hear Scorpius is going to Hogsmeade with the new transfer student from Beauxbatons," said Carpathia quietly, surprising the two of them with this rare offering of gossip.

The new transfer student was all that the third-year boys had been talking about lately. With two male best friends, Rose had heard more than she'd needed to know about her: that she was beautiful, malicious, and absolutely _French_. Or was it German?

Rose tutted and rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation. "Oh that's just too bloody perfect. Even _Malfoy's_ got a date with—with—what's her name again?"

"Chantal Gerhardt," piped up Al almost immediately. The two girls threw him quizzical looks, and his cheeks turned red as quickly as a muggle traffic light.

"What?" he mumbled, "She's got nice…skin." As if that explained everything.

Rose smirked, watching her cousin attempt to swallow his newly emerged hormones. "The Slytherin common-room has become a lot more interesting these days, hasn't it?"

At the thought, Al's sheepish smile drooped into a grimace. "It's going to get a lot more interesting now that _Malfoy's_ going to Hogsmeade with her. His ego's inflated enough as it is." He tightened his hand into a fist and pounded the grass, strengthened by newfound determination. "That does it; I've _got_ to ask Isabel."

Carpathia let out a puff of exasperated air and put a reassuring hand on Al's arm, fixing her calming green-grey eyes on him. "Stop worrying. She'd be mad not to say yes." It would have been an uncharacteristically gentle moment for the girl, but then her lips curved into a dry, amused smile and she added: "Just don't do anything stupid."

"Well, _thanks_," retorted Al, though he reached over and tousled the girl's inky, cropped hair good-naturedly, prompting Carpathia to shy away quickly like a cat. "You're a terrible friend to go to for advice, did you know that?"

Carpathia shrugged in reply, keeping that mysterious smile on her lips. Again, Rose watched the exchange with interest.

Al was still musing to himself, studying Carpathia with a rather guilty expression. "I do feel awful for leaving you alone, though. We've always gone to Hogsmeade together. What are you going to do now?"

"I'll manage," Carpathia answered simply.

Al glanced at Rose briefly, and then suddenly, his face lit up with an idea. "Why don't you join Rose and the lads? The two of you live together anyway, and you could get to know some of my friends. You wouldn't mind, right, Rosie? If Thia came along?"

The two girls briefly met eyes. Rose smiled tentatively in attempt to relieve the awkward tension that Al was, as usually, _completely_ oblivious to.

"Of course not," she said, choosing her words carefully. "You know Drew and Rowan, don't you?" Rose made a mental note to warn the lads beforehand, though she wasn't quite sure how they'd react with having another girl around to upset their precious group balance.

"Not…particularly," replied Carpathia with a very evident strain in her voice, but then the girl glanced at Al and saw the eager expression in his eyes, and something inside her seemed to give way. "But I suppose it would be…nice…to get to know them." She met Rose's eyes again, and Rose recognized the look in them. It said, _we both want to make him happy, don't we?_

"Lovely," said Rose, smiling in private understanding. _For God's sake,_ she thought as she mulled over the upcoming events, _the things we do for you, Al_.

AAA.

Whoever invented the phrase 'all is fair in love and war' were right to put love and war in the same category, thought Rose when she entered the Great Hall on the morning of Valentine's Day. It seemed as if Hogwarts had descended into chaos. For some reason, the hype of Valentine's Day had escalated to the point of absurdity. All throughout breakfast, boys and girls were running across the room to different house tables, delivering their tokens of love, which prompted a myriad of emotions ranging from tears of happiness to, well, tears of heartbreak. Apparently, some idiot prefect who had been in charge of promoting Valentine's Day had allowed for special Cupid deliveries as well. This meant that students purchasing a card from a Cupid could have it delivered to their special someone on the wings of fat cherubs, who would then proceed to sing the contents in perfect harmony. While some seemed to relish the disorder, like James and Fred (who were in the spotlight amongst their mountains of Valentine's Day cards and flocks of cherubs), others were not so amused.

"I'm getting a migraine," said Rose out loud as a flock of angels descended upon a girl sitting at the neighboring table while doing a rendition of '_Love is a hot, hot cauldron'_. She growled and scooped up her scrambled eggs into her mouth, using her other hand to cover one ear.

"S'not that bad," shrugged Al, his mouth full of croissant. He had chosen today to sit with the Gryffindors, though it had been awhile since he'd done so.

Rose cocked an eyebrow at him. "Oh really? Well, why don't you invite me over to the Slytherin table then? It seems a lot quieter there."

Al winced, and swallowed his mouthful. "You wouldn't want to. Scorpius is getting a lot of attention from secret admirers, and I thought my head was going to explode from all the gloating."

"_What_? Malfoy?" exclaimed Rose, whirling around in her seat. Sure enough, the blond-headed git was swamped in roses and pink-polkadotted cards with a self-satisfied smile on his face. Several cherubs were still fluttering about him.

"I don't think Chantal's very happy," commented Al gleefully. Rose's eyes flickered to the other end of the Slytherin table, where she saw the pretty transfer student sitting amongst a crowd of girls. She was flicking her hair and chatting rather obnoxiously to her posse, but even that attempt at nonchalance couldn't conceal the fact that her eyes kept flitting back to Scorpius with a look of annoyance.

Rose smiled to herself, and then abruptly changed the subject. "Where's your Valentine?"

The tips of Al's ears turned red even just at the mention. "It's coming," he mumbled, his green eyes glancing at the Ravenclaw table towards the back of Isabel Marrieto's head.

"So what did you settle with?" prodded Rose, "A note? A small present, perhaps?"

"Well, ah, actually-"

"_Isabel Marrieto! A tune for Isabel Marrieto!" _trilled a red-cheeked cherub with brown locks. Rolls of fat spilled out of its small toga as it fluttered furiously towards the Ravenclaw table, almost knocking into Rose's head.

Rose gazed at Scorpius with an expression of mingled horror and betrayal. "_No. _You didn't."

"They're not that bad," defended Al weakly, with significantly less conviction than before. He began to shovel his eggs into his mouth with brute speed so that he couldn't watch the display that would ensue. Rose firmly gripped a handful of his red hair and lifted his head away from his breakfast. "Get a grip. She'll probably love it. Watch."

The angels arranged themselves in a fanfare line before the Ravenclaw girl, who had now stopped eating altogether and was staring in shock. Then, they simultaneously inhaled one monstrous breath, and sang—in impeccable barbershop-style:

_O my love's like a red, red rose _

_That's newly sprung in June_

_O my love's like the melodie _

_That's sweetly play'd in tune._

Rose threw Al her filthiest glare. Did he have to pick the one with a metaphor associated to her _name_? God, she was going to murder him.

"It was their default song," muttered Al, sinking lower and lower into his seat. The song carried onto three more verses, which prompted James and Fred to lead a crowd of students into singing along. Even some of the professors swayed their heads and mouthed several words to the tune. By the time it was finished, Al's head was lying slumped on the table in utter embarrassment.

And now the great finish. " '_Dearest Isabel'_" read out the cherub with the brown locks in a lordly tone, " _'Will you be my Valentine? Love, Albus Potter_'" And with that, the line of angels rose into the air, bowed as one, and disappeared in a shower of shimmering red hearts.

The Hogwarts hall dissolved into laughter and applause. Rose patted Al's downturned head weakly for comfort.

"Did she see it?" groaned Al into the wood of the table.

"I think the whole school saw it," said Rose, struggling not to smile. "Come on, don't look like such a wuss. Keep your head up."

Al lifted his head, his cheeks red as tomatoes, and then turned towards the object of affections. Isabel was sitting frozen at her seat. She swiveled slowly towards the Gryffindor table, her bright-blue eyes wide and shell-shocked. When she saw Al looking at her, she opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it and looked away. Her brown hair fell in a curtain around her face as she bent over her plate and finished breakfast, as if nothing had happened.

Rose's heart ached for the crestfallen expression on Al's face, and she leaned over to pat her cousin on the arm.

"Was that a no?" asked Al quietly.

"Just wait till you get a Valentine that's equally bizarre," Rose suggested, choosing to ignore the question and putting on a wide smile for him, "Then we'll go laugh about it over Butterbeer at Hogsmeade."

Al pushed his plate away, suddenly without appetite. "Don't be ridiculous. It's not like I'm James or anything." He took off the green and silver scarf and threw it on the table as if it had been suffocating him. "I'm the misplaced Potter, remember?"

"Al, that's got nothing to do with _any_ of this."

"Oh really?" he snapped moodily, "I suppose it has everything to do with my lack of looks then, or how I seem to be failing _everything_ except Potions-"

He would have continued on his self-deprecating rant if it wasn't for the enormous, animalistic roar that shook the room then, silencing the students and causing the cherubs that were delivering their cards to stop mid-verse.

"What was _that_?" Rose heard James ask in bewilderment.

The roar resounded again with a significantly more animalistic quality. Out of nowhere, a thick, golden dragon burst out of the walls, causing screams of alarm. It circled the room in a magnificent dance, showering the room with sparks that slowed and melted away before touching the students. _It's not real_, thought Rose in wonderment, _just an apparition_. But who on earth could conjure up such a thing?

As if it had heard her, the dragon then swooped down towards the Gryffindor table, and a thrill of fear raced through Rose's veins as it veered towards her and Al head-on. It landed on the table forcefully, its paws sinking through their breakfast harmlessly. Its tail looped around the table's legs like a cat. The dragon's translucent scaly face regarded Al's terrified expression with dewy eyes, and then it opened his mouth and roared again, this time emanating a jet of fire right into the redheaded boy's face.

Rose bit back an alarmed cry, reminding herself that _it wasn't real_. The dragon closed its mouth and the fire halted abruptly. Then, with one last intent look at Al, it dematerialized in a loud puff of smoke.

Al blinked several times, his hair standing on end as if he'd been shocked though the fire had naturally left him untouched. In his hand was a small sliver of parchment, still sparking and as crisp as if it had just come out of the toaster. On its surface were words, which had been burnt in rather crudely, that read:

_Be mine. _

The students that had observed the spectacle now resumed their talking in hushed whispers. Several girls clutched their roses to their chests and giggled in loud voices over how glad they were they hadn't received such treatment.

Al stood up abruptly, his face burning with emotion. He crumpled the parchment with his hand and shoved it into his pocket.

"Al," said Rose, startled over his reaction, "Are you alright? Who was that?"

"I don't know," he replied, his voice low and full of humiliation, "I don't care. I just want to be alone, Rose."

"But why? I thought it was brilliant!"

Al exhaled, grabbing his bookbag and scarf. "She said no," he stated, as if it were the most important thing in the world. Then, he stuffed the remainder of his croissant into his mouth and stormed out of the Great Hall, ignoring the taunts and jabs he received along the way. Rose stared after him, feeling utterly helpless.

AAA.

"My love's like a red, red rose," burst out a loud, ostentatious voice out of nowhere, causing Rose to nearly jump out of her own skin. She'd been walking back to her dormitory to prepare for her trip to Hogsmeade, when a hand had popped out of nowhere and promptly pulled her backwards into the corridor.

She turned and nearly collided head-on into the face of her best mate, Rowan Thomas. The boy's tanned face—which Rose had always compared to the color of hot chocolate-was pulled back into a mischievous grin. His deep, brown eyes sparkled as she opened her mouth to scold him.

"Don't _scare_ me like that-"

"That's newly sprung in june!" echoed an even more obnoxious voice, and Rose felt an arm swing around her shoulders. She turned back and saw the face of her other best mate, Drew Caraway. Of course. The two boys were inseparable.

He flicked the long strands of blond hair out of his eyes (an annoying habit that seemed to have sprung up recently), and regarded her with a humorous expression. "You don't seem very newly sprung. Right, Rowan?"

"Hardly a fresh rose at that one," smirked Rowan.

"Shut up, you two," replied Rose with a roll of her eyes, pushing Drew off her.

"We wanted to give you these," added Rowan, handing her two heart-shaped red cards that seemed as though had been cut out of cardboard very recently. "For putting up with all our mischief over the years."

"And for resisting all our charm and wit of course," interjected Drew, "You're the best Valentine we could have, Red."

"Well, that's sweet of you two," replied Rose, smiling at the nickname and pocketing the two cards. Now was she blushing? "It's been a pleasure."

"How about a kiss?" grinned Drew, leaning in with puckered lips. Rowan pulled the boy away, rolling his eyes and grimacing at Rose apologetically, and just like that the moment of sentimentality disappeared.

Rose pushed Drew's face away from her own with a sigh. "Should have known. Have either of you seen Al since breakfast?"

"No. Has he talked to Isabel yet?" asked Drew, paying half his attention to the conversation as his eyes followed a pretty Hufflepuff walking past him. God, he was such an idiot.

"No, not yet-" Rose replied, her voice catching as she spotted the familiar mane of straight, brown hair heading down the hallway amongst a group of second-year girls. Speaking of the devil. "Look, I'll talk to you lads later. I've got something to do."

"Alright, we'll catch you later," said Rowan, nodding and pushing Drew along. "Just wanted to double-check our plans for today. Eleven at the Three Broomsticks, yeah?"

"As always," Rose called back as the crowd jostled the two boys further away from her. She slapped her forehead lightly as a thought occurred to her. "Oh Merlin, I almost forgot. You don't mind if I bring someone along, do you?"

"As long as it's not a bloke!" called out Drew before the two disappeared down the corridor.

Rose shook her head with a wry smile, and then turned towards the source of her attention. The gaggle of second-year girls had dissolved into fits of giggles by the archway, thoroughly enjoying the sunshine and the exchange of Valentine's Day gossip this morning had to offer. _Good grief_, thought Rose, pained at the thought of having to deal with extra estrogen-y females on such a lovely, class-free day. She put her best 'I'm older than you so don't mess with me' face and strode over, taking a deep breath.

"Isabel?" she inquired in a loud, authoritative tone. "Could I talk to you, please?"

Her words seem to cut through the crowd like a knife, and the girls split apart to reveal Isabel at the far end, her mouth a perfectly-shaped O.

"Um, okay," she replied, her voice barely above a squeak. "I'll talk to you girls later, okay?" she whispered softly, and the girls surrounding her slowly ebbed away into the distance, whispering amongst themselves.

Rose scrutinized the girl. She was even prettier up close. The freckles that lightly dusted the bridge of her nose and her wide, school-girl eyes-as blue as daffodils—seemed to exude a vision of sweetness. No wonder Al was smitten.

"Look, I don't really want to impose on your day's plans," said Rose, trying to keep the impatience out of her voice. "I was just wondering if, perhaps, you gave any thought to Al's invitation to Hogsmeade."

"I'm—I'm not allowed to go to Hogsmeade," Isabel replied, barely concealing a stutter. _She is really intimidated_, thought Rose with surprise. Perhaps she could use that to her advantage.

"Sure you are, if a third-year invites you and you get permission from your head of house. That can't be your excuse," reprimanded Rose with a sharp look.

Isabel flushed and then sighed in resignation, dropping her arms to her sides. "You're right. I just—I'm just not sure if I can-" her eyes darted up to Rose's face in apprehension, "I don't think I can like Albus the way he likes me."

"Why not? He's the nicest bloke you'll ever meet."

"It's just that-" Isabel paused, and then seemed to regain a certain amount of courage. "I—I don't think we're well suited. I'd only give him more grief, really, when he's already got so many…problems on his mind."

Rose absorbed the words and saw them for what they really were. It was Isabel's way of saying: _Al's rather unpopular, and I'd rather settle for a more mainstream Potter-Weasley, if you don't mind. _Poppycock. Rose felt a deep surge of resentment, and pushed on.

"Look, Isabel, I don't know what you're playing at, but if you're hoping to snag someone like James Potter to be your boyfriend, you've got another thing coming. For one, he's _three years older than you _and you're _twelve_ for Merlin's sake-"

"I wasn't—I wasn't thinking about-" spluttered Isabel, turning beet red.

"Fine. Not that," dismissed Rose with a wave of her hand. She'd gotten a bit carried away, admittedly. "But as a girl who is perhaps marginally wiser than you are, I'd say: take what you can get now. Al is a wonderful boy, and he's absolutely mad about you. I couldn't imagine a girl luckier than you are at the moment, and I'd think of you as a complete idiot if you didn't take up the offer."

She watched the words weigh in on the younger girl's mind. How much did Rose's opinion truly matter for a girl who supposedly idolized her?

"Alright," said Isabel finally, her shoulders sagging. "I'll…go find Albus. Do you know where he is?"

"The Quidditch pitch would be my best guess," ventured Rose with a satisfied smile. "Take care, Isabel. I hope you enjoy the rest of your day." She turned on her heel and walked with a slight skip to her step in the opposite direction.

"Rose?" called out the girl timidly from behind her.

Rose turned towards her, raising an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Do you think that…we could possibly…be friends?"

_Nice try. _Rose sighed, and plastered on her best encouraging smile. "Sure." Isabel smiled for the first time in the entire conversation and nodded. Then, she turned and headed in the direction of the Quidditch pitch in a pace that was slightly swifter than normal, as though she couldn't wait to carry out Rose's instructions.

Rose shook her head at what had just transpired and headed back to her common-room. That had been too ridiculously easy for Al's own good.

AAA.

Hogsmeade was perhaps one of Rose's favorite aspects of going to Hogwarts this time of year. Even in February, well past the cold days of winter, the town still held a picturesque quality of sleepy fireplaces and white rooftops. She even relished the crackle of dried leaves crumpling under her feet, leftover remnants from a time when the weather was still warm. Of course, these observations she kept mainly to herself with Carpathia walking alongside her. Carpathia wasn't quite the type to chitchat.

It was strange. Despite living under the same roof for so long, it was as if the two were meeting for the first time. The words they did exchange were full of polite wishy-washy nothings. Rose had asked Carpathia how her day had been. Carpathia had uttered a swift compliment about how Rose's dark blue top complimented her hair. Then, they had lapsed into silence, finding solace in private contemplation.

Carpathia seemed much more subdued than usual. She would occasionally stop and look up at a tree, cocking her head as if she'd noticed some specimen that Rose was invisible to, and then before Rose could inquire what it was, she would move on with cat-like grace.

That was another aspect of her that Rose found interesting.

Carpathia was uncannily well-coordinated. She moved with the fluidity and lightness of a ballet dancer. Each foot she placed on the ground seemed to exude purpose, though Rose knew that the grace came as easily to the girl as sarcasm did with her. And in those black robes and high-knee black boots, with her dark hair a sharp contrast to her pale-white skin, Carpathia looked like a beautiful haunted spirit amongst the trees.

But while the forest suited her, the liveliness of Hogsmeade did not. She looked just as out of place on the busy shopping streets as she had sitting among her boisterous Gryffindor peers during dinnertime. Even the yellow warmth of the Three Broomsticks seemed to emphasize her as a misfit rather than welcome her in as it did for everyone else. When Rose spotted her mates sitting at the back of the establishment and slid into one of the empty chairs at the table, gesturing for Carpathia to sit beside her, the girl looked like she wanted to disappear.

But she sat anyway.

"Hello lads," said Rose cheerfully, turning towards Drew and Rowan, who were regarding Carpathia's presence with openmouthed curiosity. "Drew, you're sporting a bit of a moustache there."

Drew sputtered to life and wiped a layer of white frothy liquid away from his upper lip. "Gah! Well, shall I order two Butterbeers? What would you like, uh, Carpathia?"

"Butterbeer's just fine," she answered curtly, tucking a strand of her dark hair behind her ears.

"I like your piercings," said Rowan, glancing at Rose as though he wanted confirmation if it was the right thing to say.

"Thanks," replied Carpathia, managing a faint smile.

Drew shot Rose a look that clearly said: _This is who you meant when you said you were bringing someone along?_ Rose fought the urge to kick him and responded with a clenched smile.

"Where's Al?" inquired Rowan, taking another sip from his butter-beer.

"With Isabel," replied Rose, eyeing the two boys meaningfully. "Don't ask me how I did it, but it looks like he's going to be having a good Valentine's Day after all."

"Cheers, Rose," Drew laughed, raising his glass to her before sucking the remainder of his beverage down in one gulp. He set it down with a satisfied 'ahh' and then drummed the table with his palms. "Alright, time for me to go and get a couple of butterbeers for you girls-"

"Oh no, let me," interrupted Rose quickly, getting up from her seat. "I'll leave the three of you to get better acquainted." She ignored the flash of despair across Carpathia's eyes, though it pricked guiltily at her conscience. "I'll just be a mo'."

She headed for the bar, though it was just her luck that she found herself caught in a sweep of student-traffic as a crowd of fifth-year Hufflepuffs headed for the door. In the midst of the commotion, she stumbled and crashed solidly into a figure.

"Watch it!" snapped a girl's voice, faintly accented.

Rose winced as she got to her feet, shaking red tendrils out of her eyes. "Sorry, it was an accident-" she stopped as she found herself looking at Chantal Gerhardt, the pretty new exchange student from Beauxbatons. And pretty she was. Rose knew distinctly that it was rather creepy to stare, but it was the first time she'd seen the girl up close and she couldn't help it. How could a third-year look so…well…_mature_? The girl's wavy hair was the color of deep caramel. Her eyes, a bright silver-green, were tilted imperiously, framed by long black lashes. For god's sake, there wasn't even the slightest blemish on her smooth, golden skin, as if she'd never even _heard_ of the word 'acne'.

"Um. Sorry," Rose mumbled again, tearing her eyes away from the girl and shaking her head to clear her thoughts away. She'd never felt envious over a girl's looks before.

"_C'est gaffe_," Chantal muttered, still glaring as she picked off a speck of dirt that Rose had left on her blouse with immaculate nails.

Immediately, Rose felt a familiar tension settle on her shoulders as she realized that this was a girl that she'd probably grow to dislike as time grew on. _Just ignore her, Rose, _she thought, _she's probably a condescending, arrogant_—

"There you are," said the voice of Scorpius Malfoy, and without turning her head, Rose could feel the boy's presence close in like a blip on her radar. "You'd think I would notice the absence of a pretty girl, but seeing as I'm rather a spectacular specimen myself, it took me awhile. Are you avoiding me?"

"Good observation," sniffed Chantal, flipping her hair.

"Did I do something to make you angry?"

"Why did those other girls send you love-cards as well?" demanded Chantal, her French accent rising dramatically.

"Because _I'm_ pretty."

"Well, I don't like it."

"To be perfectly honest, Miss Gerhardt, I don't care."

"_Mon Dieu!_ I can't believe I said yes to you in the first place, when there are so many other English boys who would have been so kind to show me around…"

"Miss? Would you like to order something?" inquired the bartender, a scruffy red-haired man with an impressive beard.

Rose blinked several times, realizing that she'd been so busy eavesdropping she hadn't paid attention to what was really happening. "Yes, two Butterbeers please," she said clearly, trying not to sound too embarrassed.

"Merlin's beard, I don't care what Father says, you're crazy!" Malfoy was yelling as Chantal stormed past him and out the door in a flare of exotic perfume.

The blond-haired boy uttered a growl of frustration and stalked after her, his fists clenched. Rose tried her best not to giggle.

"Trouble in paradise, eh?" commented a low voice to her right.

She turned and saw a fourth-year Hufflepuff that she distinctly remembered as being the Keeper of their house-team—what was his name? Corey? Conrad?—grinning at her.

Rose pretended to look nonchalant. "I don't know what you're talking about. I never eavesdrop."

"Ah, of course not," he nodded in understanding, stepping a little closer as a fellow Hogwarts student elbowed his way next to him at the bar. "You were missing out, then. It's always rather spectacular when someone stomps all over Malfoy's ego."

A smile tugged on Rose's lips. A boy after her own sentiments. "Not a fan of Malfoy?"

The boy shook his head vehemently. "Definitely not." He had light brown hair that fell in curled tufts around his head. Several cowlicks framed his face. An unbidden thought swam through Rose's mind, _he was rather cute_. "It's disparaging, though that he manages to come up in all aspects of my life. Even when I'm trying to talk to a pretty girl."

Rose opened her mouth to inquire to whom he was referring to, but it hit her an instant later. Her. He was talking about _her_. She found herself, for the first time, at a loss of words. "Um."

Was it normal to have her heart thumping so fast, and so bloody_ loud_ (she could swear everyone in a meter proximity could hear it)? She'd certainly never felt this way around Drew and Rowan. "I…"

"In normal circumstances, one would usually reply with a 'thank you'," he said, his dark eyes sparkling in amusement, "Or even better, a 'thank you' accompanied by one's name. Those are the words you're looking for."

Rose found her voice, and tried to inject it with more rigor than she actually felt. Good lord, her palms were sweaty. She reached a hand up to fiddle with a strand of her hair to keep them occupied. "I know _that_," she said, slightly defensive. "You didn't give me a chance to respond."

"Oh. Well. The floor is all yours then." He grinned. Dimples. Rose wanted to shut her eyes momentarily. Since when had dimples ever made her lose her cool?

"Thank you," she said stupidly.

Corey/Conrad raised his eyes at her expectantly, the grin still present.

Oh, his name. Right. Well, she did have a fifty-fifty chance of getting it right.

"If it were you in a hypothetical situation, how would you want someone thanking you to address you as?" she ventured. Oh god, was she still fiddling with her hair? She put her hands down abruptly.

"A hypothetical situation in which the person thanking me doesn't know my name?" replied Corey/Conrad with a knowing look.

Rose tried not to smile. "No, the hypothetical situation being that the person thanking is fully aware of what the person being thanked is named and is simply being cordial."

"Just say you don't know my name."

"I do know your name!"

"Say it."

"Corey. Conrad."

"It's Carter."

"Ah." A hot flush crept up to Rose's cheeks. _Carter. Carter McLaggen. _The name swept back into her memory. "Now I feel embarrassed."

"You should, Miss Weasley," he said, nudging her shoulder playfully, "I'm quite popular, you know. And clever. And handsome," he added with a dead-serious look.

Rose laughed. "Are you sure your name isn't Carter _Malfoy_?"

Carter gasped, throwing his hand dramatically over his chest. "I am offended. I may just call this newfound friendship null and void. A shame, too, since we were having such a good time."

"I think you were being a little hasty in calling out our newfound friendship. How do you know I wasn't counting down the seconds to leave this conversation?"

"Oh, I sincerely doubt it."

"Why's that?"

"Because your Butterbeers have been sitting on the table for five minutes now." Carter pointed, grinning wickedly.

Rose looked at the table and registered the two mugs filled to the brim in front of her, golden-colored and bubbling happily away. Oh bugger. Did she have to keep on embarrassing herself?

"You're blushing," observed Carter gently, and he brushed his hand against her face, sending tingles down her spine.

"Sorry," she muttered, her eyes casting downward as she stepped away. _Would her mother have been this flustered around a boy?_ She wondered distantly.

"Don't be. It's a compliment," he replied, watching her as she took the two mugs in her hands and turned towards her table. He reached over and touched her arm to stop her from leaving, prompting her to look at him. "Thank you, Rose." He made sure to keep his eyes trained on her face as he said her name.

When she finally tore herself away and was walking back to her companions, she could still feel the thing in her chest thumping a million beats per minute, as if a cherub had stolen her heart and taken off in flight.

AAA.

When Rose returned to her table fully recovered (with her cheeks returned to the right color, thank goodness), she saw that Carpathia was sitting alone. Drew and Rowan were nowhere to be seen.

"I've got our Butterbeers," she announced, frowning. "What happened to the lads?"

"They left," said Carpathia simply, accepting her mug. There was a dark look in her eyes, as if she was saying: _I made them so uncomfortable that they couldn't stand to be around anymore_. Rose suspected that was what had actually happened.

"Sorry," sighed Rose, sitting down and taking a sip of her Butterbeer. "They're usually a lot more friendly."

"I'm sure," said Carpathia. "It's just that I'm not."

This wanton confession made Rose look at the girl in surprise. She was picking at the Three Boomsticks placeholder absent-mindedly, as if the words she had just uttered didn't faze at her at all. _Carpathia Nott_, Rose thought, _the girl who doesn't give a shit about anything_.

"What makes you say that?"

Carpathia shrugged. "It's what everyone thinks, isn't it?"

"Then why are-" Rose stopped, pausing to reevaluate her words. "If you know this, then why are you this way?"

Carpathia stopped her picking and turned to face Rose with an expression she had never worn in front of her before. It was as if she had lifted a mask, as if she had opened a door to Rose Weasley saying 'here this is who I am, take a good look'. So many emotions under that impassivity she normally upheld, merged and conflicted. Her eyes were filled with such fire and sadness. Had Al ever seen this face of hers before? He must have, thought Rose. He must have.

"It's hard being you," Rose said quietly. The misplaced Slytherin. Of course it was. Just because she'd only seen Al's side of it, she'd never paused to think what it could be like for a person facing a situation the other way around.

"It's not just this," replied Carpathia, equally quiet. "It's been like this for me for a long time now. Even as a child, I realized…it's better not to show who you are. Otherwise they'll try to mold you into them. They'll know your strengths and weaknesses, press and prod them like a sculptor would, until you end up an exact replica of who they were."

Rose nodded, a lump in her throat. She knew. Who _they _were. Her mother. Carpathia's parents.

_You're just like your mother_, one of the countless voices whispered.

"And your brother?"

"Gareth understands. He just…doesn't agree." Carpathia looked away, as if that thought pained her most of all. "The only person who understands is Albus." And when she said his name, in that state of heightened emotion, Rose knew. Knew why she'd stopped to scrutinize Carpathia that day on the Quidditch pitch. Knew who had sent the golden dragon and the words '_Be mine_'. Knew why she was, even now, sad that Al wasn't by her side.

"Does he know?" Rose asked, but then she remembered Al's words with a pang. _I don't know. I don't care. I just want to be alone. _

Carpathia shook her head, her green-gray eyes fixated on hers intensely. "Don't tell him."

"I won't," said Rose, putting a hand firmly on the other girl's arm. "I promise."

They sat in silence for awhile, drinking in their butterbeer and exchanged promises, until it was time to go.

AAA.

_It had been a strange couple of days_, thought Rose as she treaded quietly through the Hogwarts grounds, the leaves crumpling again under her feet. Thoughts of Al and Carpathia and silly second-year girls and boys with dimples flashed through her mind. The sun was almost setting in the distance, casting a dark-orange hue on the trees.

In the distance, she heard a sudden rustle of branches and stopped in her tracks, peering in the dark and hoping it wasn't some great, big bear about to burst out of the Forbidden Forest. But no. There were footsteps, and quite rapid ones at that, so it had to be a student. She followed the sounds with trepidation, scolding herself for being so nosy and yet unable to contain her curiosity.

Finally, she came to a clearing and saw a lone figure standing in the distance. By then, the sun was a bare sliver on the horizon. She shaded her eyes, peering outward. The lighting was almost too dim for her to see, but there was no one else who had such bright blond hair, or who walked with such self-assurance.

She frowned. _Malfoy_?

She took several steps closer, trying to minimize the amount of sound she was making with her feet. What on earth was he doing out here on his own? When she neared, she saw that he was standing in front of a pile of wood, no doubt something he had constructed himself. He was humming a tune under his breath, a feature Rose would have found quite comical, if it wasn't for the slightly eerie setting.

God, she hoped he wasn't into voodoo magic.

His humming grew a little louder, and Rose stopped to listen, trying to remember where she'd heard it before. Why was that tune so familiar, like an annoying, distant lullaby?

Suddenly the pile of wood at Scorpius' feet burst into flames, and she leapt back, almost crying out in alarm. She pulled out her wand, expecting him to turn around and attack her, but all seemed normal.

Malfoy was standing calmly in front of the fire, humming his tune quietly. He was feeding the flames something from his hand, and when Rose grew closer, she realized what it was he was trying so hard to get rid of.

Valentine's Day. Roses. Cards. Bouquets, even.

The humming stopped. "I know you're there, Weasley."

Rose started. She put a hand on her chest, allowing her heart to settle down for several moments, before stepping out cautiously to stand beside Scorpius.

"It's not polite to spy on people, you know."

"It's not very safe to make fires in the middle of the forest, you know," replied Rose quietly.

"And you were concerned over my safety, was it?" he said sarcastically before turning back to what he was doing. It was a different sort of sarcasm than he'd had before, Rose noted. This one was lacking of humor. It was bitter.

"Why are you burning all your cards?" she asked, "People took time to write them."

"Did they?" Scorpius turned to look at her, displaying a half-hearted smile. "These are cards from silly-minded girls who would only think to send me their affections anonymously, but never in public. I mean, after all, what would their mummies and daddies say if they told them they fancied a Malfoy?" He scoffed, and threw another array of red hearts and roses into the fire, watching the sparks fly up as flames consumed them. "No. They're not real. They're good for my ego, perhaps, but not real. Not even remotely sincere, in the least."

Rose had nothing to say. What was there to say? She couldn't tell if what she felt was pity or contempt.

She watched the flames flicker over the boy's face, expecting to see a glimpse of emotion. But all she saw was intensity. Intense anger. Intense fear. Intense hatred. It made her wonder how on earth someone could be so twisted.

Finally, he snapped her eyes on her, and she turned away. He regarded her for several moments in silence, and then reached for something in his pocket. She saw through the corner of her eye that it was a rose, its crimson petals still damp from dew, untouched by flame.

"Weasley."

She turned to look at him, her expression quizzical.

"Here," he said almost gently, tossing the splintered flower in Rose's direction. She caught it neatly in her gloves. "I suppose someone should deserve some of the affection I'm throwing away. Even if it is you." His face cracked into an ironic smile. "Suits you, doesn't it?"

What would her mother have done? Thought Rose, and the irony of her own mental question caught her by surprise. Would she have thrown it back in his face, because he was a Malfoy? Would she have mistakenly interpreted it as a token of love? And more importantly, was the question she was asking herself relevant to anything she felt for the boy?

She tried to look at him through Hermione Granger-Weasley's eyes, but couldn't. Couldn't see him as an evil person. A hateful, spiteful boy who she could vehemently dislike, but not evil. He was a thirteen-year-old with his father's shadow hanging over him, a shadow that swallowed his ability to love and be loved. How could she judge?

Scorpius extinguished the fire and left Rose on her own to watch over the pile of smoking, ash-burnt wood, picking up the tune from where he had left off.

She closed her eyes. Recognizing it.

Love is a red, red rose.

AAA. Fin

**Aaaand for those expecting Rose to play a bigger part of the story, here you have it. I wanted to explore her character a bit deeper in this chapter, though most of what she's done is to support others in problem-counseling, as you call it. I hope I did a good job on her; she's one of my favorites. **

**Hope you enjoyed the intense focus on love in this chapter. It was meant to introduce relationships that recur later on, as well as explore emotional depth in both Carpathia and Scorpius. **

**Cheers to all the reviews so far. Notes on how to improve are always appreciated. **

**Love, **

**Missuswitch**


	6. Of FourthComing Revelations

**Of Fourth-Coming Revelations : **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. All characters belong to J.K Rowling. I just tinker-tanker. **

AAA.

Al woke up to find an owl rapping at his window on one April morning during his fourth-year at Hogwarts. He blinked his eyes blearily against the stream of clear sunshine, and stopped to stare at the owl outside his window with a mystified expression. It certainly was no owl he recognized. He had often received post from Carpathia during his years at Hogwarts this way, but her owl had been a black, silky thing and this fluffy, white rendition was certainly not her style. Especially not with that ridiculously heavy-looking golden collar around its neck. Nevertheless, Al opened the window and pried the parchment from the owl's beak, causing it to utter a deflated hoot and flap away.

He unfolded the parchment and read:

_Meet me in the common-room in five._

It was much too early for this, muttered Al in his head. He rolled out of bed and put on his sneakers, tugging them on half-heartedly with a hop as he ventured down the stairs to the Slytherin common-room.

The common-room was unusually bright today, with the curtains all drawn open and the green walls shimmering in a way similar to how leaves looked under the sun. Someone had even taken the trouble to straighten the portraits and arrange the mantelpieces of serpent figureheads in the shape of an 'S'.

"_Boujour_ _mon cherie_," whispered a husky, female voice from behind him.

Al turned and nearly tripped over the leg of a table in the process. "Merlin!"

"Oh. It's you," stated Chantal Gerhardt, stepping back quickly as though he carried a disease. Her face settled back into its usual look of disdain. She waved her wand with a mutter, and shifted the table back to its original place before Al had accidentally moved it.

"Yes. It's me. Did you—did you send that note?" Al asked in annoyance, trying his best not to stare. Hormones were troublesome things, he'd discovered in the past year, and Chantal was never the best solution for male hormones early in the morning. She was very beautiful, even with her caramel hair all tousled from bed and wrinkles still present under her eyes, and wearing her—were those _bunny _pajamas?

"Well, obviously it wasn't meant for you," she sighed, thrusting her full lips out in a mournful pout.

"Obviously," said Al sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "You've really got to find better ways of communicating. It's probably the—I don't know—_billionth_ time that you've mistaken me for him."

"Strange, isn't it, seeing as you two hardly look anything alike," she sneered, eyes glinting maliciously. Just like that, her attractiveness evaporated.

Al shrugged. "I'll just go and get him then, shall I?" he said irritably, heading for the stairs. He paused, his hand on the stairwell railing, realizing something was a bit off. It was the marble, he realized, the marble had been swept so clean that he could see his own reflection.

"Did you _clean_ in here?" he asked incredulously, whirling around to face her. He couldn't picture that hoity-toity princess picking up a feather-duster to save her life. Not that he wanted to, he reminded himself.

"I do it every morning," Chantal replied with a haughty sniff, "The house-elves do an absolutely atrocious job of it, in my opinion. In Beauxbatons we used premium fairy dust, you know. Much more efficient than those silly creatures."

"You lost me at 'every morning'."

"It's a wonderful way to wake up, truly. I do love cleaning," continued Chantal as if she hadn't heard a thing, "And after seeing the state of the Slytherin common-room when I first moved in, I knew something had to be done…" Chantal's voice trailed off, shuddering as if the very thought was terrifying. Al's eyebrows raised. "Call it an obsessive disorder if you like. _Maman_ always used to say that there was something wrong with me, but look how _clean_ the common-room looks now!" She appraised her work with a fond smile. "_C'est manifique._"

Al shook his head and left the bunny-clad girl standing there with an annoyed expression on her face. Mental. He headed back to his room and without a second's hesitation, pushed his blond-haired roommate off his bed, causing him to hit the ground with a satisfying thump. Scorpius woke up with a gasp, his limbs flailing about.

"What the bloody hell—_Potter_!" he snarled, though it was all the more less threatening with him splayed all over the floor in his black silk pajamas. Al grinned, marking it in his head as the first time since he'd been at Hogwarts that he'd finally served Malfoy his own medicine of early-morning torture.

"Your girlfriend's waiting for you in the common-room," he stated, turning around and flopping heavily on his bed. Ah, sleep.

"She's not my girlfriend," said Scorpius automatically. Al rolled his eyes into the recesses of his pillow as the boy promptly began dressing himself. It was unnerving how Scorpius still stuck adamantly to that story.

"Oi, arseface. Don't stay in bed all day." Something whizzed past Al's ear and landed precariously close to his head.

"Why not? There aren't any classes today," Al replied, his voice muffled through the sheets.

"Astute as ever, Potter. Today's the Quidditch match final, if you haven't forgotten. Make sure you're sporting green and silver." Scorpius said the last sentence with a smirk in his tone, as if he sincerely doubted it. With that, Al heard him shut the door with an impressive slam, causing Gareth and Lucas to sputter awake.

"Whozzat?" Lucas mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

Al lifted his head, the words '_Quidditch match'_ ringing through his ears like a deathbell. He peered at the object that Scorpius had thrown on his bed-sheets. It was a round, plastic pin the size of a tennis ball, with the similar obnoxious color of neon-green. He didn't need to read the pin to know what it said; he'd grown accustomed to seeing these pins being distributed from the Slytherin Quidditch team amongst the houses in the last few weeks leading up to the match, and knew that it was simply a source of trouble.

"_Up yours, Gryffindor!"_ the pin squeaked. Had they been enchanted with voice-boxes now?

Al groaned, chucking the pin under his pillow and smothering its obscenities. As much as he loved flying, he really did hate Quidditch matches.

AAA.

Scorpius left the boys' dormitory with the Marauder's Map tucked under his arm. It was a common routine of his; stealing it away without Al's permission. The poor redheaded sod had been too busy griping over his pillow when Scorpius had simply swiped the parchment out of his trunk, like a sneaky, sneaky thief. That thought, more than anything, was so deliciously satisfying.

He was still consulting the map when he entered the common-room, forgetting momentarily that Al had informed him Chantal was waiting for him there. When she leaped out to greet him, Scorpius was sufficiently alarmed and quickly stashed the map into the backpocket of his trousers before she see.

"Bonjour," she said sweetly, fluttering her eyelashes and giving him a peck on the cheek.

"Good morning," he replied, slightly bemused.

"I'm sorry I found the wrong person and had Albus wake you," she continued, sidling up to him and hooking one arm through his. _Fantastic_, he noted with irritation, realizing it would be awhile before he could shake her off and consult the map again. "I thought it'd be nice to take a morning walk around the lake before your very important game. Hogwarts is lovely this time of year. _Tres jolie_."

"Actually," said Scorpius, disentangling himself away from her, "Believe it or not, I do have other plans on my agenda. Maybe some other time." He attempted to move past her, but she planted herself firmly in front of him.

"Scorpius Malfoy," she addressed him evenly, her jade-green eyes piercing him right to the gut. "What will it take for you to adore me?"

_For the love of Dumbledore's saggy arse, why do you need _me_ to adore you_? Thought Scorpius tetchily, _You've got the entire male population under your thumb. _It was the only reason why he condoned her spreading rumors that the two of them were dating, really. She was terribly beautiful, he couldn't deny her that (_no one_ could deny her that), and the envy he received from the male populace had elevated him even more in popularity. If he was going to suffer the whims of an unstoppable female, why not enjoy the benefits along the way?

"Miss Gerhardt," he sighed, choosing his words delicately. Natural charisma really failed him in times like these. "As much as you might not believe it at the moment, I do like having your around. Not only because my father enjoys your company and therefore spends less time taking the piss on _me_, but because you can be interesting when you're not going on about ribbons or ponies or French bonbons." She opened her mouth to object, and he raised a hand. "You also transferred permanently to Hogwarts to be with me, which I daresay is probably the most flattering gift I've ever received, and you ended up in Slytherin, both of which are bonuses for your part. So if you're looking at chances, I'd say you are on your way towards snagging me. However," he raised his hand again and motioned for her to be quiet when she attempted to speak for the second time. "Here are some pointers, and I assure you, this goes the same for every bloke. Don't send me notes at god-knows-what hour in the morning asking me to meet you, and then send my idiot roommate in to wake me. Don't assume that everytime we're in the same room we have to be glued to each other side. And most importantly, when I say that I need some alone-time, it is _not_ an invitation for you to try harder."

Chantal's face had hardened into a thin line. Far from withdrawing herself, however, as Scropius had hoped, she leaned in even closer and placed one finger on his lips.

"How kind of you to rehearse a speech for me. I promise you, I'll keep all those pointers in mind." She smiled with all teeth. "I'll let you go play with your toys like a little boy for now, but I expect you to meet me outside the Banquet Hall for breakfast. _A toute a l'heur_." And with that, she turned on her heel and flounced off.

Scorpius released a breath that he didn't realize he'd been holding. _Merlin all mighty_, he thought, feeling as accomplished as if he'd exterminated a horde of Dementors by himself. He took the map out from the backpocket of his trousers and resumed heading for his destination.

He didn't have much time to get what he wanted, not really. And today of all days as well. The Quidditch pitch was still a while away and if anyone witnessed him in the middle of the act…

He picked up his pace, speeding along the corridors, but then he glanced down at the map and his heart sank. There was not one, but _two_ dots there, as if they had been waiting for him. He frowned, grimacing at the names that appeared in miniscule speech-bubbles above them.

Rose Weasley and Carter McLaggen.

Why was there always someone interfering? He stared at the map, unable to believe it and feeling a wave of frustration consume him. He had been so bloody close.

_So they have become an item now_, thought Scorpius, almost amused at the irony. He and Carter McLaggen had never really gotten along, ever since he'd thrown a curse at the git for insulting his parents in his first-year. How apt that he would be the one that Rose Weasley had decided to choose out of all the boys at Hogwarts.

Still shaking his head angrily over the frustration of not having gotten what he wanted, and filing the information he'd gleaned for perhaps private use later on, Scorpius returned to his dormitory to change for the upcoming match.

AAA.

You could always tell what kind of a Quidditch match it was going to be from the state of the Banquet Hall during breakfast, Al thought, walking into the grand room with Lucas and realizing that it was a complete clash of green and maroon. Judging by today, the match was most certainly not going to be a tame one. Almost instantly, Al could spot out James, who was sitting next to Fred with his silver captain's badge shining proudly on his chest. The two older boys were drawing gold and red stripes on each other's cheeks and laughing boisterously in a crowd of Gryffindor well-wishers, which seemed to mount them on a spotlight. James-with his windswept good looks and the feel of a hundred students' eyes on him—was especially at home. Al shook his head and looked away, smiling wryly.

Some things didn't change.

Granted, there were a lot more supporters wearing maroon than green, but the Slytherins—with their cunning and silent ferocity—had also geared quite a fearsome reputation this season, which created nice odds for those betting for the winner of the Quidditch cup this year. The Slytherin team sat at their significantly quieter table in their green uniforms and black Quidditch boots, shoveling proteins and carbs into their mouths without so much exchanging a word. At the head of the table, Slytherin captain and Keeper Zak Barrons was discussing last-minute Quidditch tactics in low tones with his Head Chaser and long-term girlfriend, Gemma Plighton. Al observed the calm behavior of his peers, and glanced over at the ostentatious Gryffindors, feeling a swell of pride. You could always count on the Slytherins for humility.

Feelings of envy pricked at him, and memories of soaring through the pitch with the wind in his hair and grass brushing his toes shuffled through his head in little flashes. The words of a certain Slytherin Captain drifted in as if from a dream.

_Fantastic flying for a first-year. Amazing speed. You'd make a damn good Chaser, maybe even a Seeker…_

No, Al told himself firmly. That was a long time ago. He doubted anyone would remember.

"Where's Scorpius?" asked Lucas.

Al rolled his eyes at his friend knowingly, and the other boy chuckled. What else would Malfoy be doing with Chantal at this hour?

The two seated themselves at the table and helped themselves to food.

"Nice outfit, Potter," sneered Gareth from somewhere down the table. Al ignored him. He had, as per usual for every Quidditch occasion in which Slytherin faced off Gryffindor, chosen to wear a neutral color that displayed no partiality to either team. This year it was black.

Good old Lucas shot Gareth a glare. "Shove off." Gareth hmmphed, and diverted his attention back to his bacon.

"Thanks," said Al in surprise, smiling at Lucas in appreciation.

"No problem, mate."

Things had certainly changed since last year. Al was beginning to spend less and less time with the Gryffindors, and had drifted apart from Drew and Rowan in favor of Lucas' company. The boy was a good sport about having Al around, and they shared many common interests including their affinity for Quidditch without having to play (though with Lucas it was more because he possessed a lack of ability), as well as exchanging notes over subjects they each had trouble in.

But it wasn't just an issue of friendship that had caused his gradual disconnection from Gryffindor. Al had begun to realize that there were certain behavioral patterns that Gryffindors liked to exhibit that were, simply put, extremely _irritating_. Stubbornness, for example. Acting rashly without logical thought. Terrible tempers. And some—here his eyes flickered towards members of his own family—were just downright arrogant. Even Rose, who he had always held in the highest esteem, was prone to these traits without even realizing it. Was this natural? Al would sometimes wonder, was it inevitable that anyone Sorted into Slytherin would slowly begin to dislike their opposing house over time, simply because one house fostered different traits from the other?

No. He couldn't believe it.

Carpathia had proven to be an unwavering friend throughout the years, and she was most definitely a Gryffindor, even if she didn't see it.

And that made Al realize, with a sudden jolt, that he hadn't seen her all morning. Or last night, for the matter. In fact, him and Carpathia—in the midst of their schoolwork—had barely spoken to each other in the last week, which he found quite bothersome, really. He surveyed the premises, searching for that familiar lone figure in black amongst the sea of reds.

As he looked across the threshold, several things attracted Al's notice. There was Rose, sitting on Carter—her boyfriend of three months—and laughing at something he'd just whispered in her ear. And there was Lily amongst her cousins Louis and Hugo, her red hair braided with scarlet ribbons into two endearing pigtails, shooting James a glare that was scarily alike to their mother's. And then there was…Al's eyes landed on the Ravenclaw table. He glimpsed the familiar fall of amber-brown hair and felt as though he'd swallowed hot coals.

Oh god, not Isabel. Al wrenched his eyes away quickly, pulling himself together. So where on earth was Carpathia?

"Hi Albus," uttered a cheery voice to his left, and Vera Zabini plopped down next to him, ponytails swinging. She was wearing green ribbons in her hair and had drawn a silver heart on her cheek with the initials S.S. (Salazar Slytherin) in them. "You look very un-Slytherin today." She drew out several markets and fanned them out for the table in a display. "How about a little house spirit?"

"Thanks, Vera, but I'm not really one for face-paint."

Lucas snorted into his cereal. "A little desperate, aren't you, Vera?"

Vera glared at Lucas, her cheeks tightening. "I was just trying to be friendly, Rosier." But she looked significantly more peeved after Al had rejected her offer.

At that moment, Scorpius had decided to re-enter the room in full Quidditch uniform, with Chantal Gerhardt walking imperiously behind him like a queen. Even without trying, his presence immediately set off a reaction amongst the Slytherins, who scooted over to make room for him next to the captain. _I suppose that's the kind of treament you get when you're Seeker_, thought Al, _or when you're a pompous git. _As though he'd heard him, Scorpius caught Al's eye with a faint curl of his lips and then looked down at his pocket so subtly that no one else around them could have noticed.

It was their code, and only Al knew what it meant. Even now, the Marauders' Map was still their secret.

Al glared daggers at him. That bastard had nicked it _again_, without telling him, and now his father's legendary device was now being put to use to find empty broom closets.

"Hey, look who just arrived," commented Lucas.

" 'His Holiness'?" grumbled Al, tearing his eyes away from Malfoy.

"No. Carpathia," Lucas said, pointing. He frowned. "And she's got company."

Al turned in his seat and sure enough, spotted his long-time best mate striding into the Banquet Hall amongst a group of five to six older students. But just not any ordinary group of students. He tensed, recognizing the black flyaway curls of sixth-year Ravenclaw Devon Lynch, who led the group with unnecessary amounts of swagger. A mixture of uneasiness and surprise boiled up within him.

_What are you doing with _them_, Thia? _

Even James, who got along well with everybody, avoided speaking to Devon Lynch and his clan. They were an odd, troublemaking lot, and not in the goofy way either. Often keeping to themselves and maintaining an air of mystery over their daily activities, they were made to be the subject of conversation quite often. The latest rumor was that Headmaster Longbottom had put Devon on academic probation for practicing Dark Magic, although those were just rumors. Students fed on bad rumors like hungry vultures.

Al watched Carpathia with avid eyes, waiting for her to notice him. She wasn't behaving like herself, he noted with a frown. Carpathia wasn't one to display emotions in public, but here she was, smiling widely as though she'd been hit with a Cheering Charm. And Merlin's beard, was that a _skip_ in her step? He watched as one of the girls in the group bade her farewell with a cursory hug. Physical contact? Now, that was practically unnatural.

Al raised his hand as Carpathia's face angled in his direction, hoping to catch her attention. Her eyes met his briefly, and she held up a hand in return to register that she'd seen him.

Al gestured at his table, mouthing, _Sit? _

She shook her head in reply and mouthed back, _I'll see you later at the match_. Then, with one final glance, she turned and followed the elder students out of the door.

Lucas whistled. "Looks like Carpathia finally made some friends."

Al lowered his hand, his face wearing a contemplative frown as he sharpened his gaze on Devon's haughty, aloof expression as the boy surveyed the in the Banquet Hall. He looked entirely too smarmy for Carpathia's own good.

Suddenly, Al had found something else to worry about besides Quidditch.

AAA.

It was dreadfully humid. Scorpius found himself already sweating under his shoulder pads as he huddled with the rest of the Slytherin team near the outer rim of the Quidditch pitch. The Gryffindors were already up and flying for their usual pre-match warm-up. Potter was standing hunched over his clipboard on the ground, blowing sharp whistles every now and then. Admittedly, they looked to be in fine form.

Scorpius glanced up at the sky. It had been sunny this morning, but ominous black clouds had now begun rolling in from the horizon.

He jiggled in impatience; what was taking Barrons so long? He glanced at Gareth, who looked equally uncomfortable. They should have started their warm-up by now.

"Has anybody seen Blakeley or Nyx? I can't find Roswell either," called out Katie Milch—the team's current most terrifying Beater—as she shuffled through the players impatiently. No one answered her. Reserve players weren't their most pressing worry at the moment.

Finally, after several long moments of grumbling amongst the team, Captain Barrons appeared, jogging towards them with a grave expression on his face.

"What's the matter?" asked Gemma, Head Chaser, taking note of the look on her boyfriend's face with a frown.

Barrons halted before his team, his arms crossed. "Has anyone contracted dragon-pox lately and failed to mention it at practice?" He addressed the team with a stern glare.

The team immediately voiced their vehement denials. Barrons was usually an agreeable bloke, but at this moment, he looked as if he was ready to murder someone.

"Why dragon-pox?" questioned Gemma.

"Because that's what's currently plaguing our entire bloody reserve at the moment," said Barrons with gritted teeth. "I just went to visit Blakeley, Roswell, and Nyx at the Hospital Wing, and all of them are too sick to play. So either they've been moonlighting as dragon-wrestlers and just happened to contract the disease altogether, or we've been tampered with."

Dragon-wrestlers? Blakeley and Nyx were so skinny they could have been broomsticks themselves. The entire team seemed to shift their heads simultaneously towards the Gryffindor Captain.

"_Wanker_," swore Gareth.

"Can't we report him to Hopkirk?" demanded Katie with a flinty look in her eye.

Barrons shook his head, looking suddenly weary. "We don't have any proof of foul-play, and the match starts in fifteen minutes." He glanced up at the sky and then back at his teammates. "I sincerely hope we won't be needing any reserve players with this storm coming in, so play safe, you lot. Don't be doing any fancy tricks to antagonize the players, especially James Potter." He gazed at Scorpius directly. "That means you. We'll be counting on you, Scorp."

"As ever," Scorpius replied coolly, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. As the team murmured their assents to Captain Barrons, he turned to look at the Gryffindors, hackles raised.

He had never felt the greater urge to win than he did now.

AAA.

"James!" called out Al, spotting the familiar profile of his elder brother on the field. James had his hand shielded over his eyes and was monitoring his players' movements across the pitch.

James put down a hand and sighed melodramatically. "What, Al? I haven't got time to be all brotherly and mentor-y right before the biggest match of the year."

_Of course, O Wise One_. For some reason, Al always found James the most unbearable when there was a broomstick in his hand.

"Right. Well. I just wanted to wish you good luck, that's all." _I was going to ask you what you know about Devon Lynch, since he's in your year and all, but since you can't see anything beyond your own fat head, I guess it's a moot point. _

"Why?" James demanded, suddenly whirling around, "Do you think we need it?"

Antagonizing his brother when he could were rare opportunities. Al shrugged. "Maybe."

James narrowed his eyes at him, looking at him up and down. "What's Slytherin planning on doing?"

Al sighed. "Nothing, James." Did he always have to be so paranoid?

"Come on, Al. If Slytherin had tricks up its sleeve, you'd tell family, right?" James glanced upward towards Fred and Rose, who were passing the Quaffle to one another, as if to make his point.

Al gritted his teeth, hating James once more for pulling out that one card that he always felt himself yield to. Family. It was always bloody family, wasn't it?

"Slytherin's not planning anything. They're just trying to win fair and square. Why do you have to be such a biased prick?"

"Bloody hell, calm your tits," whistled James, his face breaking into a grin that would have melted a girl's heart right then and there. "I'm only joking. Didn't realize you had such a soft spot for those buggers. I feel sorry for you."

What was so attractive about that face anyway? When Al looked at it he could see only spite.

"…because I can guarantee that Slytherin's not winning the house-cup this year. Not on my watch, at least."

There was something in his voice that made Al's ears prick up. It wasn't just arrogance talking now. It was…_certainty_, and James was never certain about something unless he planned it that way.

Al studied his brother with new eyes, as if he was just seeing him for the first time. It couldn't be. James wouldn't tamper with _Quidditch_. It was holy to him, to both of them. But he saw the glint in James' eyes, the mischief, the glee.

"What did you do?" asked Al slowly, trying to suppress his anger. "Did you do something, James?"

James shrugged, eyes dancing. "Maybe."

And just like that, Al knew that he'd cheated.

He stared at his brother, his Gryffindor brother whom he had idolized at such a young age, whom he had given up four years of being on the Hogwarts Quidditch team for, not sure whether he was truly hearing the words coming out of James' mouth.

"You don't bloody deserve to be captain," Al said, almost whispering.

James frowned, putting his clipboard down. "For God's sake, nobody wants Slytherin to win. I didn't even think you would have minded so much. You don't even like your house-mates."

_How the hell would you know? We've barely spoken the last four years at school._

"I can't believe I…I gave up _flying_ for you," said Al, his voice shaking. All he could think about was how excited the Slytherins had been the night before, the gleeful look on Malfoy's face when he told the boys in their dorm that it was the first time in five years that Slytherin had made it to the final. Al wished he could have said something to perturb James, _really_ perturb him, but James had an uncanny ability to stay unperturbed as if the world would somehow fix his problems as long as he smiled the right way.

"As if you would have made the team. You're puny."

"I'm a _damn_ better flier than you'll ever be!" the words left Al's mouth in a loud yell, prompting the players hovering above to stop what they were doing and look curiously down at the Potter brothers.

That had been a dangerous move. James Potter could handle his ego if it were just between him and his little brother, but if there was an audience…

"Watch it," he said in a low, dangerous voice so that only Al could hear. Then, he straightened and ran a hand through his hair, not bothering to spare even a second's glance at the younger Potter. "Alright, mentoring time over. Slither along now, and enjoy the match. Watch real Quidditch players do the work."

Al wished he knew how to reign in his emotions, but something was collapsing inside him. All those years of sitting idly by the pitch and watching the joy on Rose's face when she flew, wishing it were him on the pitch instead. All those holidays when his dad had bought James a new broomstick and not Al because Al hadn't shown any interest in being on the house team. All those years of people asking him why he'd never bothered to try out, what happened to that talent he'd shown as a first-year-

What was it all bloody _for_?

Al suppressed an inner scream, and stalked towards the bleachers, feeling more lost than ever. But more importantly, he just wanted to kick something and pretend that it was James' stupid face.

AAA.

The match had begun.

Scorpius hovered above the others, shivering slightly as a stormy breeze blew through him. His teammates below were working furiously to combat the Gryffindors, who seemed to have kicked off the game in a domineering force of pure brutality.

It was a strategy so typical of James Potter. The Chasers had no regard for formation or defense, but had apparently been given plenty of leeway to execute fancy tricks and loop-dee-doops in attempts to score goals.

Unfortunately, with the Slytherins playing for survival due to lack of reserves, it was working.

_We're backing off too much for them_, thought Scorpius with gritted teeth as he watched Katie Milch deflect a Bludger off to the side of the pitch. Normally, the girl would have swung it right at Fred Weasley's teeth, but with Barrons words hanging over everybody's heads…

_Play it safe. _

Scorpius gritted his teeth and pulled into a small dive, straying just the right distance away from the action. He knew he couldn't afford to be injured, but it was just so damn _hard_. From the corner of his eye, he saw Gryffindor Seeker Lee Chapman tailing him cautiously, making sure that no Snitch had been sighted.

Scorpius rolled his eyes. Idiot.

He focused on the stands, noting once more the mass body of scarlet supporters in comparison to the significantly smaller circle of greens. Rowan Thomas was commentating, as usual, but his voice—which normally boomed across the field—could barely heard beneath the rumble of stormclouds as they rolled across the sky.

All of a sudden, he registered the flash of red hair—where had that come from?—and heard a crack to his left. A black ball hurtled towards his vision, and he quickly tried to swerve to the side.

Out of nowhere, Gemma Plighton's arm clamped on his and dragged him to the right, and the Budger narrowly zipped by Scorpius' ear.

Scorpius looked up to see Fred Weasley eyeing him with a grin, twirling a bat in his hand. _Git_, he thought furiously, Beaters weren't supposed to aim for Seekers.

"Goddammit, be _careful_ Malfoy," hissed Gemma, shaking the sweat out of her eyes. She turned towards the referee and threw her hands up in exasperation. "Oi! Ref! Are you going to call that or what?"

Barrons swept by them, shooting Gemma a furious look. "Don't get yourself ejected from the pitch, Plighton. Malfoy, don't forget you're unexpendable." And with that, he swerved back in the opposite direction.

The match got progressively dirtier. James Potter had evidently allowed his team to run rampant with fouls, as though he was determined to knock any Slytherin player off his or her broom. It was forcing the team into a tight corner, limiting them into executing only all the simplest moves.

Gemma had begun swearing vehemently every time she lost the Quaffle to one of James Potters' ostentatious feints. Twice, Scorpius almost ran into Rose Weasley, and once he'd heard her whisper snakily in his ear:

"Gryffindor for the cup."

Then, the storm arrived, and all hell seemed to break lose.

As rain fell thickly, soaking into Scorpius' clothes and chilling his bones, he wondered how in Merlin's name he would be able to see the Snitch. And more importantly, how Slytherin was going to keep holding off the Gryffindors the longer he couldn't. There was nothing worse than two opposing teams doing their earnest to beat one another in order to get off the pitch, for the Gryffindors—now also discomforted by the rain—had upped their game even more.

Suddenly, his heart stopped. He'd seen the flash of gold. Before he could think on it anymore, he pulled into a dive, hoping that it would grant him a few second's advantage before Chapman noticed. Thunder rumbled, and the rain pierced his skin like knives.

Scorpius spat out water, driving his broomstick on, watching the glint of gold come closer and closer. He could hear Chapman panting behind him as he struggled to keep up—

"MALFOY, WATCH OUT!" roared Gemma again and this time, the Chaser crashed into him, knocking him off his course and almost causing him to inhale a mouthful of hair. Another gleeful Bludger whizzed past him.

He swore and quickly regained his bearing, having half in mind to yell at Gemma for being such an overprotective bint, but when he whirled around on his broom, she had disappeared from view.

"_Somebody catch her_!" yelled Barrons from somewhere in the distance, his voice desperate. Scorpius' heart dropped to his stomach as he watched their Head Chaser plummet down to the grass, her robes flapping in the wind. He could practically hear the smirk on James Potter's face.

And then she landed on the ground with a thump, and all was silent.

AAA.

It was definitely going to be a messy game, thought Al darkly. He had seated at the edge of the box on the far corner, associating himself away from the cheering Slytherins and making a point even to avoid Lucas. What was the point really? He hadn't come out here to support Slytherin. And he couldn't support Gryffindor, not after what James had done. James, who represented everything he hated about Gryffindor.

It was better just to focus on the mechanics of the game. Al was good at the mechanics of Quidditch. He had a trained eye that was honed from years and years of flying and reading Quidditch magazines. He could spot strategy before it was executed. He could identify the strengths and weaknesses of teams five minutes into any match.

Yes. This was definitely better than thinking about family or house-loyalty or any of that.

"…_and the Quaffle is taken by Plighton, who tosses it over the shoulder to O'Reilly —AND Potter intercepts! Brilliant interception! And there it goes to R. Weasley, who's pulling into a dive-"_

Al barely noticed when Carpathia slid into the seat next to him, dressed in a long, black trench-coat.

"Al?" she inquired, waving a hand across his face.

He jumped.

"Oh. Hi," he said, his expression flickering only slightly in recognition before turning back to the game. Slytherin was definitely on the defensive. Milch—who was usually a cannon—was doing everything in her power to deflect Bludgers from her teammates, but hadn't bothered to beat them in the direction of the Gryffindors.

"What's the matter with you?" Only Carpathia could have noticed so quickly.

"Nothing," Al responded in clipped tones. _No there was something, _he remembered suddenly, and then he turned towards her and demanded, "Where were you this morning? I saw you walk in with Devon Lynch."

There was a flash of guilt across Carpathia's eyes, and then it vanished. She shrugged. "We're friends."

"_Malfoy misses a close-call from F. Weasley—ah, let the poor bloke sulk over his bat for a mo' there—and there's Plighton shaking her fist at the referee, feisty Head Chaser the Slytherins have there—And here comes Barrons to cool the situation-"_

"Why are you friends with _him_?"

She had detected the disdain in his voice. "Why can't I be?" she challenged.

"I dunno, I just don't-" Al hesitated, and then continued, "I don't think they're the sort of people you should be chumming with."

Carpathia rolled her eyes. "I can have other friends besides _you_, you know," she replied with a flare of anger.

Where the hell had that come from? Al frowned. The buzzer roared just then, prompting an enormous roar from the Gryffindors.

"_And Potter scores! Ten points to Gryffindor!"_

Al managed to glimpse his brother doing his customary gloating lap around the pitch before tearing his eyes away and saying: "He's bad news, Thia. I thought you'd be smart enough to know that."

"You don't even know them, Al."

Why was she being so adamant about this? She'd never been so aggressive with him. "I don't have to. I bleedin' well know what sorts of people I'd like to associate myself with."

Another buzzer sounded, signaling ten more points to Gryffindor.

"_Do you_?" exclaimed Carpathia with a sarcastic laugh, and two red spots appeared on her pale cheeks. Her eyes had turned into a violent, stormy gray. "Oh Merlin, Al, I can't keep doing this for you. It's too _bloody_ difficult!"

It was the first time he'd ever heard her swear. He stared at her, abandoning his attention towards the match completely. "What is?"

"Being your friend," she stated, her voice deadened. "Protecting you."

Al threw his hands up, exasperated. "Can't you ever just say what you mean?"

"I am."

"No you're not. You're being cryptic. As usual."

"_Malfoy pulls into a dive! And it looks like he's seen the Snitch! There's Chapman, right on his tail. It might be a short match, ladies and gents_-_"_

Carpathia clenched her fists in frustration. "I mean that I can't always be there to help you _grow a backbone_."

Al felt like someone had just hit him over the head with a mallet. "What did you say?" he said slowly. A drop of water landed on his arm.

"_Oh get your parasols out, it looks like the storm just arrived—and Malfoy pulls out of the dive, having lost the Snitch—poor chap, it'll be difficult having to spot anything in this weather-"_

Carpathia shook her head, smiling bitterly. "Don't lecture me on who I can or can't associate with, when you have never even come close to figuring it out yourself. Who are your friends, Al? Who are your enemies?"

Al stood in his seat abruptly and gazed down at her with cold eyes. Why her, of all people? The one person that he'd never had to defend himself to? "You don't understand. My family-"

"Your family? And what about mine?" Carpathia interrupted sharply, standing to meet him with level eyes. The rain was falling thickly now, leaving damp trails on Al's clothes. As the people around them scrambled to conjure umbrellas and cover, neither of them moved a muscle. "You forgot, didn't you? You always forgot that I had to face the same problems as you."

She stepped closer to him. The rain had glued her black hair down the sides of her face, but it didn't faze her. "The difference between you and me, Al, is that I decided what I wanted for myself a long time ago when you did not. I chose my own path and not the path my family expected of me. I chose my brother's scorn in exchange for my freedom. And if it were I in your place right now, and it were James instead of Gareth, I would _still_ stand my ground against him, because that is the price of being different." She spat out the last sentence with vehemence, "_No one_ should mold who you are."

The buzzer sounded in the distance, but it was muffled by the patter of rain. Al couldn't even hear which side had scored.

"I don't need you to tell me this," he replied quietly. "I have made my choice."

"Then stand up to it," she said fiercely, her eyes full of fire. Water trickled down the nape of her nose. "Before you waste your life deciding which part of you to let go. You cannot be alone, Al, when you—you of all people—are meant to be a part of something bigger." She turned and then watched his contorted expression with an icy look on her face. "I can't help you until you help yourself."

She walked away and disappeared into a blurred haze of raindrops, which seemed to wash Al's entire world away.

It was only then when he noticed that the pitch had become unusually silent. There was a loud murmuring among the students, and many of them were shuffling towards the edge of the box, looking down into the pitch.

Something drastic had happened.

Al peered through the rain and saw the familiar figure of Gemma Plighton splayed motionlessly on the pitch, so still that her green robes seemed to meld with the grass.

AAA.

"This is ridiculous," said Barrons, looking visibly distressed as the medics paraded an unconscious Gemma on a stretcher past them on their way to the Hospital Wing. The poor bloke had lost his grip on being Captain, thought Scorpius, but Scorpius couldn't blame him. It _was_ his girlfriend on that stretcher.

The Gryffindors were huddled in a group several ten meters away, regarding the scene with apologetic looks on their faces. Only James stood apart from them, his arms folded across his chest with a hard expression on his face. Scorpius hands itched for his wand. Merlin, he wanted to hex that git into oblivion.

"This is ridiculous," repeated Barrons.

"She'll be alright, Barrons," said Katie comfortingly, putting a hand on his arm.

"I know _that_. Gemma heals so fast she's practically a lizard," Barrons replied, a faint smiling flashing across his face. "But she's our Head Chaser, and now we're one short. What in Merlin's bleedin' name are we going to do now?"

The team was silent. They had no reserve. Out with dragon-pox. As the Gryffindors had so conveniently arranged.

"Is there anyone who knows an extra player?" Katie asked the team helplessly.

Silence. Bloody silence.

"Well that's it, then," announced Barrons, his voice hollow and heavy. "I'll go tell Hopkirk we forfeit." The words sank like stone on the heads of the Slytherin players, dragging down the countless months of training and gruel into the damp earth.

"Wait," uttered Scorpius with gritted teeth. The idea had come to him while he'd been staring at James Potter's face, but it was only when he'd noticed-from the corner of his eye-the familiar form of a redheaded boy stalking off in the distance when it had struck him as a fully-fledged option, an option he realized was too valuable to miss. "What about Potter?"

Barrons raised a confused eyebrow. "Potter? As in _James_?"

"As in Albus."

"_Albus Potter_? He hasn't even attended _try-outs_," Jack Avery scoffed scathingly. Several members of the team echoed his sentiments.

"Just a moment, wasn't he that first-year kid that Joe Davies wanted to recruit?" mused Katie thoughtfully, glancing at Barrons. "I remember, I was a third-year. He flew circles around some poor arse on the pitch and Joe wanted him on the team right then and there. Amazing technique."

"That poor arse was me," said Scorpius smoothly, and several of his teammates raised their eyebrows at him in amusement. Katie covered her mouth in an attempt not to laugh. "And yes, I can sincerely vouch for him when I say that he's still a damn good flier." He ignored the look of shock that Gareth threw him, and gazed straight at the captain.

He wanted Barrons to know that he believed they could still win this. That they could still beat that smug look of James Potter's face. Scorpius felt the desire as deeply in his bones as he had on that cold day in Astrakhan's classroom when he'd sat next to Rose Weasley.

Barrons nodded, new fire in his eyes. "Alright, Scorp. Go get him. And be quick about it."

And so, Scorpius found himself in a situation that he hoped he could one day reflect upon with amusement. Or mortification. _Who cares_? He thought. At this point, he just couldn't afford to look stupid in front of the team.

He caught up to Al easily with a Quaffle in his hand and a speech in mind, confident that he could tackle a boy whom he'd roomed with for four years, a boy who he'd so easily intimidated and coerced on several occasions into helping him.

"I know what you're going to say, Malfoy," Al said dully, stopping in his tracks without even bothering to turn around.

Scorpius frowned. Well that took the element of surprise away.

"The answer's no."

Scorpius rolled his eyes. _Spare me the melodramatics, please_.

"Don't flatter yourself," he drawled, sauntering over. "I'm not asking this for me. I'm not even asking this for the team. Look, normally I'd rather eat Longbottom's underwear than admit it, but you're not bad. At least, you've got a killer arm and you can throw a Quaffle a decent distance without pissing yourself. So please, do _yourself _a favor and play."

"Not interested, Malfoy," muttered Al, his teeth clenched. Scorpius studied the boy's back with curiosity. This wasn't Al's normal reaction. He had detected a whirlwind of emotions in Potter's tone; hurt, anger, betrayal, loathing. For Merlin's sake, what catastrophe had befallen him now?

"What's the matter?" Scorpius called out, feigning concern. And then he threw the Quaffle with all his might at Al's back.

With astonishing speed, the boy whirled around and caught it with his hands.

"I said, I wasn't interested!" yelled Al, hurtling the Quaffle back in Scorpius' direction with such force that Scorpius could barely duck out of time.

"Bloody hell, Potter!" cried Scorpius indignantly, now aptly shaken. He quickly mopped up the loose strands of his hair that had fallen out. "Potter! I'm glad you're finally doing it, but for fuck's sake, now is _not_ the time to grow a pair!"

Al halted in his tracks with hunched shoulders, breathing heavily. Scorpius managed to storm up to within a meter of him before Al turned around and faced him with a fierce expression, one that Scorpius had never seen before.

"When did I stop becoming useless to you, Malfoy? After all those times of calling me 'pathetic', even after the times I lent you my dad's Map and saved your failing arse from Potions and you still thought of me as some poor sod you could push around, when did you actually see that I was a human being?" Al's voice was flat and hardened, almost devoid of emotion. "You want to talk about how others making your life miserable? Well, you're the type to make sure misery loves company. You thought you had the _right_ to justify your misery with mine, that maybe then you would feel better about yourself, but Merlin, I realize it now after all this time, that it's only made you beneath me. Don't you see? That was pure arrogance on your part. And you think my family and I are the arrogant ones?" Al's voice lowered to a whisper, "I despise you, Malfoy. You're a bloody hypocrite, just like he is, and I don't owe you _anything_."

Scorpius had no idea who the 'he' Al had referred to was, nor did he care. He stood still, watching Potter's icy green eyes pierce his own with an expression of pure contempt, and suddenly remembered—as if he were unearthing a piece of himself that had been buried deep—why he'd hated Albus Potter that moment they'd met outside that jokeshop.

"Hey Potter," he said softly, eyes glittering. "You don't have to like me. Hell, all I want to do right now is turn you into a bug and squash you beneath my feet, so you're right, you don't owe me anything because I'd hate to think I was tied to an imbecile like you. But you know who you do owe? You owe the house of Slytherin. You owe them because for the last four years you failed to acknowledge a place that fed you and housed you, that made you feel accepted and treated you like an _equal_."

"You think you can just walk around feeling sorry for yourself because you can't go skipping in the rain with your Gryffindor cousins? You think you can wear that Slytherin insignia only when you _feel_ like it? _You are a part of something that's bigger than just yourself and the sooner you get that through your thick head, the quicker you'll learn not be such a_ pathetic_, smarmy wanker_!"

He ended his tirade screaming and realized that he was shaking. For the first time, Scorpius had lost control of himself in front of another person.

That piece of knowledge was rather astounding.

"Fine," said Al, so quietly that Scorpius almost didn't hear him.

"I didn't—I didn't hear that," said Scorpius, straining to get a grip over himself. He was still trembling.

The redheaded boy leveled him with his eyes, his jaw set, and all Scorpius could think was, _I've actually gotten through to him. Whatever it was, whatever I said, I struck a chord_. "I'll do it, Malfoy. I'll play the bloody game."

AAA.

It was one of the most crushing defeats in Hogwarts history. A match that students would be talking about for years to come.

After Slytherin's awful performance on the pitch and with Gryffindor in the lead 120-10, it was impossible to visualize that the endgame would be anything other than a swift victory for the Gryffindors, another trophy placed beneath the banners of gold and maroon.

As fate would have it, that was not what happened.

It was confusing for the Slytherin fans at first when they saw Albus Potter mount his broomstick behind Scorpius Malfoy, wearing last-minute tailored robes that had the name 'Blakeley' incorrectly emblazoned on the back. They muttered uneasily amongst themselves, doubting the boy who had so long denounced his place within their House.

But then Albus flew, and it took only several seconds before the Slytherin House erupted into cheers. Because they knew, along with every spectator on the pitch, that from the indomitable grace the boy held himself on his broomstick-the game had changed.

Al flew as if the last four years without Quidditch had caught to him. He flew with rage, with joy, and with passion. For the first time in his life, he saw each player on the Gryffindor team, not as familiar faces or family, but as opponents. And for the first time in his life, his head was cleared of clashes between love and loyalty, and he now knew _exactly_ what he wanted.

When Rose retold the story to her roommates later on that evening, she remarked that she had not touched the Quaffle once during the last half of the match. Al had stolen it from her-but more importantly, he had stolen it from _James, _the brother who had stolen Quidditch from him. The scarlet ball seemed as if it was glued to Al, only leaving his hands when he was hurling it through a Gryffindor goal, and he was—as Rose put—_untouchable_.

Slytherin's points escalated so quickly that Rowan Thomas could barely keep up with the score. Before long, Slytherin was 120-120 to Gryffindor, and like a tidal wave, the tens kept on coming.

As the younger Potter swept across the pitch, with his face knotted in nothing but fierce fortitude, the Gryffindors gaped at him in silence. Then, all of a sudden, as if someone was turning up the volume on the stadium, they began to join the rest of the school in adulation, clapping and stomping their feet in amazement. Because it didn't matter if they were losing; they were watching an art form come to life before their very eyes. It was incredible. Spectacular.

When Slytherin was leading ahead of Gryffindor 230-120, the Gryffindor players stopped altogether and hovered on their brooms, watching their captain (the only player who still had the will to resist) battle his brother like a pair of frenzied mosquitoes. But it was all in vain because a moment later, the final buzzer sounded and Scorpius Malfoy soared over the pitch with the retrieved Snitch flapping feebly in his gloves. And that was it. They had made history.

Al, after dismounting his broom, found himself lifted into a sea of hands like a hero. He blinked as if he were waking up from a dream, looking—astonished—at the many faces that smiled and clapped for him and feeling as if he could not remember what he had done to deserve it. In the midst of his disorientation, he registered Isabel's eyes on him, a mingled look of disbelief and admiration all over her pretty face.

The story became a legend, and it was told countless times even after Al had left Hogwarts. But what the redheaded boy could not understand at that pivotal moment, filled as he was with incredulity and joy, was the look on James Potter's face when he saw his little brother elevated on a platform of glory. Nor did Al understand, until several years later, why that moment had placed an insurmountable distance between him and his elder brother.

AAA.

A week later, when the topic of Albus Potter's heroic act on the Quidditch field had died down but was still whispered occasionally amongst the students, Scorpius Malfoy ventured out of his dorm—bright and early—and headed for the pitch. Unlike the day of the match, when the air had been so heavy and ripe with humidity, the weather on this day was crisp and dry. A cool wind shuffled through the grass.

Scorpius took out his broom and kicked off, enjoying the scope of the world beneath his vision and the closeness of the clouds as he flew higher and higher. He continued this lazy ambling for awhile, and then decided that it was about time to head for the ground.

When he landed, he sensed a presence behind him and knew exactly who it was.

"Hello Malfoy," said Rose, "I didn't expect to find you here."

He surveyed her briefly. Hair pulled back in a ponytail, hands on her hips. No broomstick.

"Same could be said for you, Weasley. Where's that moldy, old contraption of yours you call a broom?"

"I don't always come here to fly. It's one of my favorite spots, you know."

_I do know_, thought Scorpius in amusement. The Marauder's Map seemed to nod against the pocket of his trousers in agreement.

"Congratulations on your win," said Rose, kicking the grass gently with her feet. "Good match, last week."

"We destroyed you."

"I know," she said, gazing into the distance with a fond smile. She glanced sideways at him with a slightly more peeved expression. "Don't let it get to your head, though. We would still be evenly matched in a fair game. You just had Al on your side, that's all."

For once, Scorpius had to agree with her.

The two of them stood in awkward silence for several moments, reflecting that this was the first time that the two had been alone and hadn't leapt at each other's throats.

"Well." Scorpius coughed. Being cordial really wasn't the best of ice-breakers, in his opinion. "I should be heading back to my dorm-"

"Wait," interrupted Rose quickly, and all of a sudden she looked very, very flustered. "I've been meaning to say this to you for awhile now—well, not awhile, but rather more in light of recent events, and—I suppose you could say I've been looking for you—well, not _looking—ah_, hum." Her words cut off with a small gulp and she grimaced in frustration.

"Would you like a comma with that sentence?" quipped Scorpius dryly.

Rose inhaled deeply and paused for several moments, as though she was trying to reorganize her thoughts. Then, she shook her head in self-exasperation and blurted out:

"Thank you for what you did for Al."

Scorpius opened his mouth. Then closed it. Definitely not what he'd been expecting. "I didn't do anything." _Just called him a pathetic, smarmy wanker and threw a Quaffle at his back. _

"No, I expect you wouldn't think so, but you did. I don't know what it is about the two of you, but somehow, you're the only person that's ever managed to push him off the edge."

"Ah. That's…good?"

"Yes," smiled Rose, her voice soft, "I've been trying to do it for ages, but it's never worked for me. Whatever it is you said, whatever it is you did, you managed to straighten his spine. He'll be happier now for it, and that's all I've ever wanted for him." She was watching him with her deep brown eyes, taking in his surprise. There was a mingled expression on her face that very much resembled Al's when he was wrestling an inner battle.

"Oh sod it," she muttered, and before he could think on it, she had abruptly closed the distance between them and put her arms around him in a very stiff, very awkward hug.

She pulled away quickly, as though she'd been stung by a bee. Her face looked like it had been set on fire.

"Gah," said Scorpius, petrified.

"Right, okay," muttered Rose, wringing her hands. "You get the idea." And with that, she turned on her heel and walked off the Quidditch pitch at a rapid speed that was fueled by mortification, disappearing into the distance before Scorpius could say anything.

Later on, as Scorpius trekked back to his dorm with his mind still whirling in shock, he pulled out the Marauder's Map and searched for the dot that represented what seemed to be the bane of his existence.

He found Albus Potter almost instantly near a grove of trees by the Hogwarts grounds, far away enough from the castle that it almost disappeared off the edge of the Map. A small smile quirked up his lips; it was a place he recognized, a place where he had once gone as a angry, naïve second-year to obtain a cluster of Bowtruckle wood-lice. Hovering beside the dot of 'Albus Potter' was another dot labeled 'Carpathia Nott' and they were so close that the two almost seemed to meld as one.

Scorpius stared at the map, unsure of what he wanted. There was a time when he would have made it his mission to make Albus Potter's life hell because he was angry at the world and thought he'd been given nothing—a time when taunts and insults came naturally to him and preying on the weak wasn't such a moral dilemma. It had been time when he'd found pleasure in hexing a redheaded boy with his back turned, a boy who was so driven to misery that he had been headed for the owlery to mail his father a note asking to send him back home.

But no matter how much Scorpius still felt traces of those days, that time had passed.

_How can I be better than him if he's glad to be who he is and I'm not?_

And so, after long last, the Malfoy boy pocketed the map and turned away, leaving the Potter boy he'd antagonized for so long to reconcile with his best friend as they talked about Quidditch matches and annoying brothers and paving their own paths. For the first time since Scorpius had come to Hogwarts, he had decided to let Al be happy.

**AAA. Fin**

**I know I've been posting a lot of chapters lately, and it's not because I've been speed-writing them. I just finally had some time to touch up some writing and I decided to get it all over with during the summer holidays, so enjoy. **

**Anyway, I've always enjoyed the Quidditch aspect of Hogwarts, so here's a particularly Quidditch-centric chapter, not to mention a huge turning point for the Potters and Malfoy. **

**(Sidenote: a point to remember is that whatever Scorpius was trying to find with the Marauder's Map earlier on in the chapter will be revealed later on.) Also, in case nobody picked up the implication, Al and Carpathia **_**do**_** make up at the end of the chapter. **

**Thanks for bearing with the first four years of Hogwarts for these characters as an overextended introduction. And now for some fifth-year drama. **

**As always, reviews are appreciated. **

**Love, **

**MissusWitch**


	7. Interlude: Growing Up

**Interlude: Growing Up**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of J.K Rowling's characters. I just tinker-tanker. **

**AAA. **

_Growing up had a variety of meanings. It meant unstable new emotions and even more unstable new hormones. It meant late-night cram sessions for O.W.L's and realizing that magic—like everything else in the real world—had its place amongst the sincere and hard-working. It meant that the safety and security taken for granted during childhood was growing transparent as the unpredictability of adulthood seeped in. It meant that, ultimately, a child's growth could be measured by how much heavier the world had grown on his or her shoulders. _

AAA.

For Albus Potter, growing up meant popularity, Quidditch, and a girlfriend.

When Al entered his fifth-year at Hogwarts, he immediately succeeded Gemma and Barrons (who had both graduated) as both Head Chaser and the youngest Quidditch captain in Hogwarts history. No one complained. This created a huge turning point in his life as all of a sudden, Al became the most sought-out person in his year. Blokes loved him. Birds loved him. And Al, who had never received such attention in his life, could not understand the ulterior motives that came with popularity. He wanted to believe that people loved him for his personal qualities, not his position on the team or his surname, and this naivety was the reason behind him thinking—as young boys in love always do-that Isabel Marrieto had finally agreed to be his girlfriend because she'd actually liked him for those qualities. In the same fashion of naivety, he'd come to believe that his performance on the pitch had finally put James off his back for good; that his brother had finally learned to accept there was enough room for talent for the both of them. Without the prospect of competition hanging above them, Albus believed—visualizing the bright years ahead of him as he so often did now—that in time, their broken brotherhood could be mended.

Yes, for Albus, growing up was fantastic. It meant having everything you'd always wanted.

AAA.

For Scorpius Malfoy, growing up meant ignoring his parents, mouthing off teachers, and the kick-off to his sexual awakening.

Adolescence had done well for Scorpius, that much was easily said. While he wasn't the best-looking in their year, his natural gifts with charm and charisma had developed into weapons. That, paired with the fact that he'd grown a foot over the summer and acquired an athletic wiry build from Quidditch, drew females to him like flies to honey. When one asked one of Scorpius' Malfoy's conquests what exactly made him so attractive, it was customary for the answer to follow the lines of: "He just…doesn't _care_. It's so hot." And that was precisely it. Scorpius didn't care, and he displayed it for the world to see in a behavior that was consistently snarky and cavalier. What was the meaning of a long-term relationship if he could watch his parents' marriage dissolving with each passing day? What was the point in being polite to professors if they—like everyone else in the Wizarding world—saw his Slytherin insignia to be the worst of him? And most importantly, why be in such a hurry to transition into an adult when their dark world was filled with nothing but greed, lies, and prejudice?

For Scorpius, growing up was disillusioning. It meant realizing that adulthood simply wasn't worth the price.

AAA.

For Rose Weasley, growing up meant breaking generational gaps, unwarranted feelings, and new revelations.

Rose spent the summer before fifth year trying to find herself. It was a romantic notion, a notion she'd gotten into her head after perusing a series of Muggle authors stashed away in her mother's bookshelf. The books themselves were wholly enlightening, exploring the philosophies of adulthood without magic getting in the way, and it occurred to her that the other Weasleys had probably never heard of Nietzsche, Emerson, or even Winston Churchill—a suspicion that was confirmed when her cousins begged her to change the subject every time she brought them up at the dinner-table. The gap she'd unknowingly placed between her and her family made her realize that if she could not find the answers to growing up at home, then she could find them in Muggle London.

And so she went. She visited the iconic sites of London, marveling how the lines blurred between Muggle history and their own. She observed the simplicity of lives without magic, yet realized that there was certain things that would always seem universally magical—like love, for instance. She learned that prejudice and hatred could be just as powerful in the muggle world, that it had ruled for centuries, yet saw the bold leaps that muggles took to cure it. She would return home at the end of each day, not noticing Hermione's knowing smile as she treaded wearily up the stairs to her room, where she would then lie in bed with more questions in her head than when she'd left, as was the nature of such things.

For Rose, growing up was an enigma. It meant trying to understand things before you even knew what they were.

AAA.

For Carpathia Nott, growing up meant casting off old skins, blossoming dreams, and disappearing.

The way that Carpathia solved problems was to never face them head-on.

She observed, weighed her options, and if the problem was too complex, she would put it behind her and hope to never encounter it again. She saw it like shedding excess skin (an ironic analogy, since she had shed the house of serpents). When it came to her parents, who, as time passed, grew less accepting and more demanding (as if she _owed_ them something for being put in Gryffindor), Carpathia found her solution was to distance herself completely, and her silence around the household was an endless source of exasperation for her brother. When Carpathia realized that Albus Potter did not love her the way she'd inexplicably fallen in love with him, she stashed her love in some dark secret corner at the back of her mind and found solace in the company of Devon Lynch, who seemed just as lonely and misunderstood as she was.

Sometimes, even human company became a problem, and it was then when she would venture into the Forbidden Forest and dwell in the presence of the magical creatures that she found so fascinating.

Carpathia saw childhood as chains to a life that was wearing itself out. She could not wait for that magical number of seventeen to break her free of these mundane bonds so that she could choose between the multitude of paths laid out for her, each more outlandish than the last, as she had for so long dreamt about.

…even if, some secret part of her whispered at the back of her mind, some aspects of childhood were more difficult to let go of than others.

For Carpathia, growing up was an adventure. It meant that at a certain point you would never have to look back.

AAA.

_In the years to come, growing up would be wonderful, disillusioning, mystifying, and adventurous. It would cause a boy to sever ties with his brother. It would allow two people from opposing houses to fall in love. It would finally allow a glimpse of true evil, and then provide the chance to act on pure goodness. It would mean failure, deceit, and heartbreak, but also bravery, wisdom, and forgiveness. Above all, growing up would demonstrate that there were some things that could be thicker than blood. _

**AAA. **

**There will be several 'interludes' like this scattered among the stories. They're meant to emphasize a certain theme in the story. As you probably picked up, transitioning into adolescence is a pretty large influence in my Potter universe, which is why I decided to include it. **

**Also, it means that I won't have to spend much time in the next chapter filling in the gaps as unnesscessary background for characters. AND my loyal followers get a tease for what's happening next. **

**Next up: Scorpius is put in a situation of particular vulnerability, with no one but his two fellow redheads to turn to for help. **

**Thank you for all the helpful feedback! **

**Love, **

**Missuswitch**


	8. Occupational Hazards

**Chapter 7: Occupational Hazards **

"Have you ever given any thought to your future after Hogwarts?"

Silence.

"I asked, have you ever wondered what you're going to do after you graduate school?"

"I heard you."

"Well then, Miss Nott, how about a little more enthusiasm?"

"Not really."

"I can't very well continue on with this session with you acting like it's your mother's funeral."

"No, Professor Fell, I meant…I haven't given much thought to my future."

"Ah." Papers rifled. Shuffle, shuffle. "Well, as your career advisor, I'm here to provide an idea as to what sorts of paths you might be partial to. What are your interests?"

_Skiving. Cigarettes. Devon Lynch._ "I'm not sure what you mean."

"There must be something you like doing during your free time. Do you have a favorite class, perhaps?"

"Not really."

"Yes, you have been rather…erratic with your attendances lately." Shuffle, shuffle. "Well, not to worry-"

_I wasn't. _

"—despite the fact that your coursework has taken quite a nose-dive in the last couple months, I see that you have still maintained consistent marks in Care of Magical Creatures." Pause. "Your Transfiguration marks aren't too shabby either. For your final term paper last year, you chose to conduct research and write about-"

"Animagi."

"Indeed." Shuffle, shuffle. "So…magical creatures, is it? There are some odd career opportunities here and there in that field."

Silence.

"For instance, St. Mungo's is opening a new Non-Wizards ward and specializing specifically in the care of non-human creatures. They'll be needing volunteers soon enough. Have you ever considered-"

"No, not that."

"Ah. Well. Another illustrious path is Research Potioneering. Breaking new frontiers, that one. It's about learning the properties of magical creatures and how certain extracts can be used to-"

"No."

"Then tell me, what exactly do you have in mind?"

Silence.

Shuffle, shuffle. "Miss Nott, you're just going to make my job difficult, aren't you?"

Silence.

"Oh, for Agrippa's sake. Just…do well on your O.W.L's then."

AAA.

Carpathia took a long drag from the cigarette in her hand and leaned against a giant oak tree. She watched the hazy sky above her, tracking the swirling movement of pollen seeds as they fluttered across the clouds, and then realized that in her stupor she'd been holding her breath for a while now. Concentrating, she expelled the drag in intervals through her mouth, which was held firmly in an O shape, and three smoke rings floated up into the air.

"That's pretty, Pegs."

Recognizing the voice, she smiled to herself. She looked over her shoulder to see seventh-year Devon Lynch ambling towards her through the trees, his dark curly hair brushing the tips of the branches. As always, he looked noncommittally and devilishly sexy, with his robes askew around him and the top of his shirt unbuttoned so that his neck and part of his sternum were visible. As always, he wore black.

A chilly breeze swept through him but he remained unfazed.

"Don't be patronizing," said Carpathia, turning away from him as he leaned against the tree right next to her. She avoided his intense eyes, which had on many occasions caused her heart to sputter like a train engine, and tried not to notice the fact that he carried the earthy scent of a forest after a spring rainfall. She bent down and pretended to wipe the ash off her stockings.

"What have you got there? Muggle fags again?" said Devon amusedly as he caught sight of the cigarette in her hand. A dimple indented into his left cheek as he smiled. She tried not to notice that as well.

He reached into the pocket of the blazer she was wearing and pulled out a cigarette box.

" 'Lucky strike'?" he read from the label. "That sounds _adorable_."

"They do the trick," she replied with an amused smile, taking back the box. "And half the price of Wizarding ones, may I add."

"That may be, but there's not much of a ride. Fancy a real one?" he grinned, pulling out a metallic, silver box out of his pocket. "I'll treat you."

Carpathia's heart dropped in shock and immediately felt a familiar yearning clenching her gut as he waved the silver box teasingly in her face. She shook her head and grabbed his arm with a sharp expression. "Are you crazy, Devon? You can't just wave _that_ around on campus. I mean, if they are—what I think they are-"

"They are," he cut in with satisfaction. He appraised her open mouth with a softer expression, as an adult might look at a child. _And it was the case_, thought Carpathia, she _was_ a child and Devon had just turned of age.

Carpathia's face hardened at the thought. It was painful when she was reminded of how truly solid that age barrier could be and she'd gotten a full taste of it.

He registered the sudden blankness of her expression with a frown. "Some other time, maybe." He pocketed the metallic box and folded his arms.

"I got them for you, Pegs." His tone was slightly accusatory despite the affectionate nickname.

"I doubt it."

"How so?"

_Because it's never just me. It's Erin too. And Keegan. And Adara. Especially Adara. _

As if he heard her thoughts, Devon shook his head with an irritable look on his face. "I promise, the others don't know I have it." He eyed her cigarette again and stated, "You're out."

Carpathia's eyes traveled to her hand and noted the smoking stub. Devon swiftly plucked it out of her hand and ground it into the dirt and crisp leaves under his black leather shoe.

Carpathia bit her lip in disapproval. "You shouldn't litter."

He took note of her expression, sighed in resignation, and pulled out his wand. "_Vasiliere_." The smoking stub dissolved into a pile of earth and melted into the ground. Devon pocketed his wand and turned to face her, eyebrows raised. "Happy?"

She didn't say anything for a while and as usual, he took that to mean an invitation.

He put a hand under her chin, and used the other to tuck a corner of her short raven hair behind her ears. His fingers were so tantalizingly tender. _Stop it. _The words rose up within her, pushing up against her lips, but then he gazed down at her with those beautiful, tortured eyes and said gently: "I know you're angry with me, and I'm sorry for that. But I can promise you that our secrets are still ours, and no one else's."

And down the words went, swallowed once more. She felt like a powerless fly trapped inside a very intoxicating web.

Devon's hand went to her cheek and held her there. He was looking at her with his eyes half-lidded, like he was a dying man in a desert and she was the last cup of water. "You're something else, Carpathia."

She stood there, frozen, urging herself not to betray any emotion. _You're something else_. He'd said it once before too.

"How is it that you can say so little and occupy so much of my attention at the same time?" murmured Devon. He drew himself close to her so that they were barely centimeters apart. The wood dug into her back.

"Dev-"

"I won't lead you into something if you don't want to," he interrupted her, and tore his eyes away from her face. "I thought I'd just let you know that I like having you around, Pegs. More than Erin, Keegan, or Adara. More than anyone." He buried his head into her neck, and Carpathia closed her eyes.

"I stepped over a few lines before, but you won't get that anymore," he continued, and when he spoke his mouth vibrated against her skin. "I promise I'll behave…"

_Unlikely, _thought Carpathia briefly, but she couldn't help it; the smile, it was tugging at her lips, unraveling her face before him.

"…unless you ask otherwise," he whispered. She felt his smile, too, as it drew a crescent path on her neck.

"Devon," she tried to say firmly, but her voice came out embarrassingly breathless. "I'm asking you to-"

"To what?"

_To be a good boy and let me finish my smoke in peace. _But the image of him turning around and walking off into the distance was repellent, and suddenly all Carpathia wanted to do was forget about this morning's stupid Career Advice interview and do something crazy to compensate, and Devon was so dreadfully sexy—

"Oh bugger it," she said, her voice quiet.

Without a second's hesitation, Devon wrapped his arm around her waist and met her lips with a grin. The familiarity of his mouth moving against hers, and the gentle roughness of his faint stubble against her cheek, was enough to make Carpathia drop her pack of Lucky Strikes to the ground and lose herself to his expert hands. She couldn't believe that this was happening again on such an ordinary morning with the sun out and with classes starting in fifteen minutes, but then again, she'd never believed in butterflies in her stomach or fanfares sounding her head when the boy you liked kissed you. Devon had, after all, taken her first kiss without much fanfare at all, and now it seemed that he was the closest thing she knew to home.

Later, after they had broken apart to take a quick smoke break, Devon pulled out his packet of wizarding cigarettes, a popular brand label called '_Incendium_' that the two of them had smoked together on countless occasions. He popped a deep purple cigarette in his mouth and said cheekily:

"Do you want to see real smoke-rings, Pegs?"

After his first draw, he expelled a breath of smoke that evolved and twisted into a dragon before her eyes. It soared gleefully through the air on wispy wings and then, after several moments, dived straight for her with its jaws wide open. It passed harmlessly through her and dissolved into the morning breeze, causing Carpathia to shriek with laughter and turn her head to marvel at the only person in the world that seemed stranger than her.

AAA.

"A Quidditch player, Potter?"

"Um. Yes?"

"For God's sake, when did you become such a bleeding idiot?"

"Are—are you actually allowed to use that sort of language, Professor?"

"YES! Anyone with sense in their heads would realize that the prime of a Quidditch player's life is bound for several years of glory and then a lifetime of meaningless, dithering oblivion. I have had my share of Quidditch-bound students, and the whole lot of them are so caught up in their own fantasies they forget studying for their required subjects, and do you know what that does to them? It means that after their careers are finished they are completely _pizd'ets_-pardon my Russian, they have no bleeding clue what to do next. You are the most promising student in my class, Potter, but this is the honestly the most dimwitted statement I have encountered today."

"Professor, I thought you were supposed to respect my career decisions, not, er, shoot them down."

"I'm your career advisor, not your suicide coach."

"But I'm far from being a bad flier, and I love Quidditch. It's the only thing I've ever wanted to do in my life. Isn't that the point? To do what you love?"

"If that was point, we would have a lot more broomsticks in this world and a lot less medical breakthroughs."

Silence.

"Potter, you are a fine flier-there's no doubt about it. But the point is that you are also incredibly talented at Potions and that is something that is rarer than Quidditch talent, something that only a handful of people possess."

"With all due respect, sir, I think you're a tad bit biased."

"Of course I'm biased, but my position as your Potions Master only makes it a more credible assessment of your skills! I don't speak highly of many people, but I do believe you could do so much more with your life if you pursued this path. You could be a Healer, or—or a frontier-breaking Potioneer, discovering new cures for magic!" Pause. "Don't you ever want more for yourself off the Quidditch pitch, Potter?"

There was a sigh. "To be honest, I just want to fly on my broomstick."

Silence.

"_Ch'vortz mi_, didn't I warn Headmaster Longbottom that having career sessions now was a waste of time? Youth nowadays have not a single clue what's good for them." Papers shuffled. "I'll leave it alone for now, boy, but mark my words: don't you dare slack off on your O.W.L's just because you think you'll be the next hot-shot for the Holyhead Harpies. If you are not enrolled in my N.E.W.T course next year, I will see to it that your broomstick is chopped into kindling."

AAA.

Al entered his first class period of the day with his ears still ringing from Astrakhan's harangue and his arms filled with career pamphlets. Professor Vipula eyed him beadily, having been cut off mid-lecture by his arrival, and gestured at the nearest empty seat.

He responded to the greetings of his classmates with a curt nod, but then realized that the face he was most accustomed to seeing was once again absent.

He found Rose with his eyes. She read the question in his expression and responded with a shrug.

As if on cue, the door opened and Carpathia stepped in, a picture of black and nonchalance. She was wearing a tight-fitted black blazer over her uniform. Her hair, which had used to be a neutral brown, had been dyed ink-black several months ago and was styled in a bowl-cut so that a smooth fringe almost swept over her silver eyes. A black pendant in the shape of a rose blatantly stood out against her ivory neck.

Al felt a prick of relief at this familiar sight, but then noted with unease the skip in her step and the familiar silver powder that stained her fingertips. When she slid into the seat beside him, he caught a whiff of smoke emanating from the strands of her hair.

"Miss Nott, tardy as usual. Do you have an excuse for me this time?"

Carpathia responded to Professor Vipula with an amused smile that curled the corner of her lips.

Vipula's expression tightened, and for a moment it seemed as if she was about to say something, but then thought better of it and returned to her lecture instead.

"You missed some informative stuff," whispered Al as the class began rummaging through their bags for quills and parchment.

"As if you would know. You came in two seconds before I did," responded Carpathia, dead-pan.

Al rolled his eyes. "Either way, you didn't do a good enough job of cleaning up. I could've smelled you from across the room. I suppose that's what happens when you're in a hurry." He pulled out his wand and pointed it in the direction of her head, "_Dissolutis._"

The acrid scent of smoke vanished immediately. Carpathia shot him a grateful smile. "Thank you. You're getting better at Charms."

"That's because I actually turn up to class once in a while."

"Al," said Carpathia sharply, and the playful mood of their banter abruptly ended.

The animated tones of Vipula's lecture spilled into the silent void between them for several minutes. Carpathia tapped her desk silently with alternating fingers, her face blank with expression, which Al took to mean as a symptom that he had ticked her off.

"Sorry for nagging," conceded Al, lowering his voice as Professor Vipula shifted towards them, "You know how I feel about you skiving off with Lynch, especially on revisions week. Doesn't that bloke have exams to study for?"

"So now we're talking about Devon again, are we?"

"He's not good for you."

"You've said that before."

"Right, so please understand that this is your mate giving a shit about you, not trying to piss you off."

"So why does it piss _you_ off when I tell you the same about your girlfriend?"

"Because it's not the same," replied Al with gritted teeth, quickly averting his eyes from Carpathia's rigid body as Vipula flashed the pair of them a suspicious look. He lowered his voice so that it was almost inaudible. "Iz doesn't feed me narcotics or alcohol as a past-time."

"No, she's just a controlling bint who won't let you spend time with anyone besides her."

"Bullocks. She's always wanted to get to know you better. You're the one with the problem."

"Maybe I don't want to be 'that friend' that hangs around you and your girlfriend all the time. Remember the days when you and I used to do things together?"

"Remember the days when you weren't hanging around a bloke that made you cry?"

Carpathia blinked rapidly, as if it was the only way to quickly absolve the words that had just shot out of Al's mouth.

"I thought we weren't going to mention that again," she said curtly.

Al stared back at her, his gaze resolute. "The hell we aren't, Thia. You can't expect me to forget what happened a couple weeks ago."

Carpathia's eyes darkened and her mouth pursed into an inscrutable knot. There was a loud scrape as she stood up from her chair, her black handbag swinging from her shoulder.

Professor Vipula turned to face her with a frown. "Yes, Miss Nott?"

"I'm feeling ill," she declared simply, "I think I need to go to the Hospital Wing." There was a collection of snorts around the room.

One of Vipula's finely plucked eyebrows twitched. "With _what_, exactly?"

Carpathia shrugged and tilted her head so that she could throw Al an expressionless look that border-lined scorn. "Growing pains."

Vipula opened her mouth for what no doubt seemed to be a severe scolding, but Carpathia seemed to have no other agenda but her own. Al gave her a desperate look that he hoped she could take to interpret as: _'Don't be stupid_.' On any other occasion, he had always been able to pull her down to earth whenever she floated too far away, but it seemed lately that she was beyond tethering.

He watched her leave the room, without a second's look back, and spent the remaining class period feeling angry and unsettled.

When class ended, Rose sidled up next to Al and elbowed him.

"So what was that about?" she muttered without so much of a greeting.

Al shook his head moodily and swung his bag over his shoulder, feeling his books thump heavily against his back. "What else was it about? I was just trying to be the bloody concerned friend that I am, and Thia blew it off. Is it so wrong of me to not want some twat to ruin her life?"

Rose's brow furrowed. She took a strand of her red hair and fiddled it agitatedly between her fingers. "Look, I didn't want to make you more worried, but I was going to tell you that she hasn't been sleeping regularly in the dorms. She's been heading out after-hours a couple nights a week for about a month. Really crafty, too. I almost didn't catch it until last week when I went down to get some water from the common-room. I found her sneaking back in at four in the morning, and she's done it a couple nights since."

Al stopped in his tracks and stared at Rose incredulously. "Why haven't you stopped her?"

Rose flushed. "For God's sake, Al, I'm not her mother."

"You're a prefect!"

"Do you really think Carpathia will listen to anyone once she's set her mind on something?"

_She listened to me_. "Just…just keep an eye on her," he answered, deflated. He ran a hand through his hair multiple times, a habit he'd accumulated during periods of anxiety. "Do it for me, Rose. It'd make me feel loads better."

Rose's piercing eyes softened. "Yeah, Al, of course."

"And another thing," he said, squinting his eyes in a slightly sheepish expression. "Does it seem like Isabel and I are together all the time?"

Rose raised her eyebrows and smiled wryly. "Well, not _all _the time-"

"That's what I thought."

"—I mean, assuming you still sleep in different dormitories and still follow standard lavatory rules of separating boys from girls-"

"Oh, shut up."

Rose grinned and tousled his hair affectionately. "Look, I've got to run, but don't let it bother you too much. Carpathia's always been your friend, and she'll still be your friend even if she's gone a bit off track now. Besides," she gazed over his shoulder with a pointed look, "There's your other half to cheer you up." She broke into a quick jog with her deep auburn hair streaming behind her, waving half-heartedly at her cousin.

Al gazed up ahead him and looked at the one person that made him feel that life could not get any better. Isabel Marrieto, dressed today in a periwinkle sundress beneath her Hogwarts robes and wearing equally blue ribbons in her brown hair, was engaged in what looked like an exasperated conversation with James Potter. The company was not what Al had in mind, but he had no doubt that Isabel was telling his older brother off again. Though he had protested on numerous occasions, she had replied that she had felt "obligated" as his girlfriend to try and patch things up between the two of them. It was an awfully sweet gesture, even if it had proven to be futile.

"Hello, you two," said Al, mustering a bright expression as he marched up to the two of them. Isabel started a little as his hand fell upon her shoulder, but when she turned and registered that it was him her eyes softened in relief. James, on the other hand, reacted oppositely. His face went dark, as if a curtain had suddenly been pulled across his features, and his shoulders noticeably stiffened.

"James-" began Al, but the elder Potter grunted and shoved past Al before he could continue, barely glancing him in the eye. Al watched him go, feeling disappointment sink into the pit of his stomach despite knowing that this type of exchange had become a typical form of interaction between them.

"Al," said Isabel, her eyes fluttering anxiously as they scrutinized his expression. "Are you alright?"

Al tore his eyes away from his brother's retreating back and glanced back at her. _Cor, she's so pretty_, was the first thought that entered his mind. It was a thought that would have earned a slap from Rose for being so cheesy, and a thought that left him 'ga-ga' when he was around Isabel and probably warranted less than intelligent conversation. Nonetheless, Al felt that even though they'd passed their six-month relationship mark, he could never grow accustomed to the fact that the girl he'd goggled for over two years was now his to look at every day.

"I'm fine now," he replied with what he hoped was a casual smile. "How are you?"

She shrugged and cast a strand of her long hair over her shoulder. "I could be better, I suppose. Lots of drama this morning. Darryl Roswood claimed to have photographic evidence of having gotten off with Tricia during the bonfire party last weekend, so naturally there was a bit of a spat between Tricia and Harriet. Now they're not speaking." Isabel grimaced, and the freckles on the bridge of her nose danced up and down. "My friends are _so_ stupid."

Al had forgotten who Tricia was. Or Darryl. He did have a vague idea who Harriet was, but it didn't matter because ultimately they were Isabel's friends and she did have a lot of friends. He nodded in response, hiding his bewilderment. "That sounds awful."

"It was just a lot of drama. I wish you'd been there to see what had happened that night for real," sighed Isabel, slipping a slender arm through his.

"I know, but I-"

"Caught the flu, yes I remember, love. What a pity. Your brother really knows how to throw a party."

Al nodded again, watching his girlfriend swallow the lie he'd manufactured with a pinch of guilt. "Next time. I promise." He leaned in for a kiss. Isabel smiled and met his lips with hers gently, causing a short circuit through his spine.

_Every single time_, he thought dazedly when they broke apart.

"Oh! I forgot to ask!" exclaimed Isabel, clapping her hands. The ribbon in her hair fluttered to mirror her excitement. "How did your Career's Advice session go?"

"Astrakhan wasn't too pleased, obviously. He still thinks I should follow Potions."

"That old coot," sniffed Isabel with a look of distaste. "I don't understand why he won't let you do what you want. You're a fantastic Quidditch player."

"He's just concerned, I suppose."

"He should mind his own business, that's what," said Isabel, "If you want to play Quidditch, then don't listen to what anybody else has to tell you. Imagine what people would say if you actually earned your spot on the Holyhead Harpies!"

Al nodded, losing himself in thought as Isabel continued to project her thoughts beside him. He had not thought about his Career's Advice session since he'd left Astrakhan's office this morning, and the fact that he'd come to a cross-road for his future was just now registering. Pursuing a career path other than Quidditch was a perturbing thought, one that Astrakhan had wormed into his brain after years of being convinced that nothing could be short of perfection if he was on a broomstick. Who had ever heard of someone giving up a chance to play professional Quidditch for a bunch of dusty vials and a leaky cauldron? _But then again_, digressed Al, who could think of the future when it was still a while away and there were other present issues at hand? Al's thoughts wandered back to Carpathia, his stupid, reckless Carpathia, and the idea her sneaking off into the grounds late at night with some bloke whose intentions were unknown, were possibly harmful…

"Al, are you listening?"

Al blinked and the sounds of reality crashed down around him. He realized that Isabel was waiting for his reply. "Sorry, what was that?"

Isabel exhaled loudly and fixated her pale blue eyes on him. "Do you want to tell me what the matter is? You've been distracted since you left class."

"I…" Whatever excuse Al had concocted up inside his head failed to reach his mouth in time. He gazed at Isabel apologetically. "It's nothing, really. I just had another row with Thia this morning and it's been…on my mind."

Isabel's mouth enclosed into a small 'O'. Her eyes were glued now to his every expression as though he was a puzzle she was trying to solve with her very gaze. "She's my friend, you know. It's been going on with this bloke for ages and I've tried to be completely fine with it, but if I was supposed to be looking out for her, and some part of me just _knew _that she could do better without him, then I should be trying to convince her otherwise, wouldn't I? Merlin knows she's looked out for me a million other times already."

He knew he shouldn't have said so much. He knew Carpathia was a touchy subject for Isabel. He could see her swallowing visibly. _Please don't let her be upset. _  
>"Al…it's just…" Isabel began in tones that were unusually calm. She paused, and looked away into the distance for several seconds with her lips pursed speculatively. When she regained her speech there was an air of cautiousness. "Darling, you know…you're not the one to make this decision for her."<p>

"I know, but-"

"No you _say _you do, but you don't, not really. She's your friend, but you're also hers, and that means you've got boundaries," interrupted Isabel firmly, turning onto him with her eyes bright and fierce. "Which means that if she wants something, you're not supposed to interfere with it! That's what friends are for. They support one another. She wants Devon, and that's simply what you've got to come to terms with. And what's more," she added as a quiet after-thought, "You ought to be pleased, now that she's moved on."

Al cocked his head, puzzled. "Moved on from what?"

Isabel stared at him as if he was wearing the biggest question-mark in the world. "The obvious, Al. She's been in love with you for ages."

AAA.

"Miss Weasley, you're one of our most promising students."

"Thank you, Professor."

"You're probably aware of this already, but your marks are outstanding. I daresay you could be the top two of your year if you perform just as well on your O.W.L's. Not too surprising, eh, considering your mother is Hermione Granger-Weasley!"

"Something I'm never tired of hearing."

"You could do anything you wanted, you know. The object of our session today isn't to figure out what you can do, but what you want to do. So, any ideas, Miss Weasley?"

Silence.

"Have you heard of Mark Twain, Professor Fell?"

"A Muggle writer, I presume. English?"

"American, actually. Have you read any of his books?"

"I can't say I have."

"He's got quite a magnanimous sense of humor. That's what most people talk about when they talk about Mark Twain, the fact that his books have such a wide appeal to all sorts of audiences. But you know, I think what he had in mind was to write about self-discovery. All those adventures, those fantastical stories, they're all saying the same thing: that life's a journey, carpe diem, and what not."

"Ah. Well I'm pleased to hear you've expanded your reading material to muggle-written books, but what does this have to do with our session?"

"It's really sad for me to admit this, but I actually have no idea what the hell he's talking about."

"Mark Twain, you mean?"

"That's right. I think I lose myself in those books because I don't have the opportunity to find out the message behind them for myself. I've never hand-washed my dishes or made my own campfire. I've never seen a sunset over the ocean or hiked up a mountain without a Portkey. I've never even taken an airplane before."

"There are some law programs in Wizengamot that have some fantastic international exchange opportunities."

"What's more, everyone I know expects me to end up in some high-profile job as a Healer or an Auror or, god forbid, a lawyer just like mum, but what if I just want to find out how an airplane stays in the sky? Figure out how someone without magic could have invented instant messaging or put a man on the moon? What if I just want to learn how to use a bloody ipod?"

"I'm…not quite sure what you are trying to say, Miss Weasley."

Silence.

"No, I reckoned you wouldn't. Wizengamot, you were saying, Professor?"

"Well, in my professional opinion, I think you'd be happy there, and your parents would be very proud if you were accepted."

"Of course they would be."

AAA.

Rose was glad to see Rowan standing outside Professor Fell's office when she exited. She knew that if she were to have another conversation that was as mundane as the one she'd just experienced, there would be simply nothing left to do but to lock herself in a broom closet and curse humanity.

"That bad?" quipped Rowan with a grin, his dark eyes scrutinizing her as she walked towards him.

"Abysmal," responded Rose, looping her arm through his. "Let's go throw rocks at the Giant Squid."

Rowan had grown substantially over the last winter holiday. He'd also gotten a lot thicker, whether it was because the mounds of food his mother continuously shoved into his mouth had finally caught up to him or because he had actually decided to go to the gym once or twice. Either way, the scrawny, cocoa-skinned boy that Rose had been so accustomed to seeing over the years had disappeared. Perhaps that was the reason why Rose had begun feeling more secure around Rowan in a way she'd never had before, as if his broader shoulders had somehow created larger space for the two of them to talk in private.

But then there were always things that stayed the same, she concluded. The way his curly hair spilled over the sides of his head like an unruly child, for instance, or the Indian spices forever embedded into his clothing.

"What are you looking at?" said Rowan, looking at her with his eyebrows raised and drawing her out of her reverie.

"What? Oh, nothing," replied Rose, shaking her head. "I'm just thinking about how I'm going to get you a really unbelievable birthday present."

"My birthday's not till August."

"Well, then you've got four months to squirm over how unbelievably unbelievable it's going to be."

Rowan's mouth twitched in amusement and he flashed her a quizzical look. "Not saying that your presents haven't been unbelievable in the past, but why this year?"

"Because of how fantastic of a friend you've been," stated Rose with a straight face, "Really fantastic, Rowan. In all seriousness, I think you've totally smashed Drew's chances of winning 'Best Male Friend' of the year."

Rowan snorted. "Don't insult me, Red. Drew was never even in the running." He bent down and scooped up a pebble into his palm. He hurtled it as far and with as much strength as he could into the lake. The stone collided into water with an impressive splash, followed by the familiar disgruntled moan of the lake's deep-sea inhabitant from the water's murky depths. Rowan slapped his palms in satisfaction and turned towards Rose.

"Is there something you want to tell me, then? You're usually not this sentimental when there's nothing disturbing on your mind."

Rose blinked several times, combed her mind for a playful reply, and came up with nothing. She exhaled slowly, gathering her thoughts. "I just feel like there's a whole lot of figuring out to do with my life and that I haven't really come close."

"What are you talking about?" said Rowan, frowning.

"Don't you ever feel like…" Rose paused, and continued on in a contemplative tone, "Like no one really understands where you're coming from? What you want to do? Who you want to be?"

"No, but…" Rowan silently turned over another pebble in his hands. "I understand you, don't I?"

"Yes." _But not completely_.

"And what about Carter? You've been dating forever. Doesn't he understand?"

The thought of Carter made Rose's heart whine painfully. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a sound conversation with Carter, or at least one that didn't end with one of them slamming the door on the other.

"He tries," said Rose with an attempt of nonchalance. She was reminded of what she had promised herself months ago, that she and Carter could still be together no matter how rough and rocky it would get. A hand subconsciously itself placed over her chest, as if it was the only way to hold that promise there. "Do you think I'm dark, Rowan?"

Rowan uttered a loud snort and dropped the pebble in his hand so that it thumped onto the grass beneath them. "Are you serious?"

"Yes, I am. I want you to tell me honestly, from the deepest part of your heart, do you think I've got a dark personality? That I'm cynical and narcissistic and I don't appreciate what I already have in life?"

"Blimey, is that what Carter's been saying to you?" said Rowan incredulously, looking at her with alarm. "And you believe it?"

Rose fixed him a solemn stare. "Just answer the question."

Rowan sighed and put his face into his palms for several moments in exasperation. Noiselessly, he walked towards Rose and took her hands into his own, clutching her fingers firmly. She could feel the warmth of his skin radiating from beneath his woolen gloves. "Rose."

She raised her head and met his soft brown gaze, trying not to feel the mixture of embarrassment and misery that was welling up inside her. "As winner of the best male friend of the year, and from the truest, deepest, most honest part of my heart, it doesn't matter how much darkness you've got or whatever bullocks Carter came up with, because you are still the most unbelievably unbelievable girl that I have ever met."

Rose expelled a breath and felt the relief pour into her ribcage. The pressure that she'd felt pressing against her mind the last couple months since she and Carter started rowing, the idea that she was somehow too complicated for her boyfriend to handle, had lightened significantly. She put her arms around Rowan and squeezed him into an embrace, forcing back the lump in her throat. "Thank you."

But as much as Rose wanted to feel that her relationship could be magically revitalized by her best friend's words, the reality of it could not have been anymore different. After contemplating her options all throughout dinner, Rose was convinced that this time around she could resolve the rift between her and Carter once and for all. She walked with new-instilled confidence towards the Herbology section of the library, where she knew Carter liked to study because he had once remarked that he found the green walls soothing.

It was to her surprise when she found him huddled behind a mound of books with his fellow sixth-year Hufflepuff teammate, Ellie Farnsworth, and looking like he was having a hell of a lot more fun than revising.

"Carter," she said, mustering all her energy to plaster on a casual expression but feeling as if someone had poured a bucket of ice-cold water down her back.

Carter's head bobbed up from behind the books and registered her presence with wide eyes. The smile on his face faded. "Rose. I didn't see you there." Pause. "We were just revising-"

"Hello, Rose!" greeted Ellie in an unusually high falsetto, her round face popping up beside Carter's. "How are your revisions going for O.W.L's?"

Rose's entire body was rooted still. Even smiling felt like her cheek muscles were moving mountains. "Spiffing, Ellie."

"That's wonderful, really…wonderful," replied Ellie in the same high-ho cheery manner that made Rose want to chuck a Bludger her way. "Well, I ought to be going. I've got friends expecting me. Bye, you two." The blond Hufflepuff's cheeks were glowing pink. She scooted off so quickly out of their proximity that it was as if she'd _Accio'd_ all her writing materials into her bag.

Carter stared at Rose's impassive face and folded his arms defensively. "We were just revising, honestly," he repeated.

She brushed off the statement with the blink of an eye. "I came to find you after dinner. You never showed up."

"Why would I?" he shot back with sudden brusqueness.

Rose gazed at him, trying to suppress the mixture of anger and despair that threatened to boil over. _This wasn't how it was supposed to go at all_. _I just wanted it to be better. I thought it could be better. _"I just hoped we could talk. Fix things."

"I assumed Rowan could have fixed them up for you," he responded and with that, he turned away and promptly began packing his things.

_So that's what this is about_. Rose closed her eyes momentarily and opened them up again, hoping that when she did he would be looking at her with contrite blue eyes and his hands in his pockets, ready to forget and reconcile as he'd done before. But there he was, the first boy she'd ever loved, shoving his things in his bags as if he couldn't wait to get away from her.

"Rowan's a friend," she stated through gritted teeth, refusing to move from her spot even though his back was turned towards her. "He was helping me with a problem, and you…you used _Easy Ellie _to get back at me because you were too damn insecure over that?"

"That's unkind."

"Oh please, she earned that name for a reason and you knew it would upset me."

"No. What's unkind is how every time you have a problem, you would think to go to Rowan or Drew or your other hundred male friends before coming to _me_ and still, even now, you don't see anything wrong with that."

"I'm coming to you now!"

Carter snatched the last remaining item on the table and stuffed it into his bag. He whirled around and fixed his eyes on her with a look of finality. "Too little too late, Rose." With that, he walked past her on stormy heels and exited out of her sight.

Rose didn't know how long she stared at the library aisle that Carter had disappeared into, but she abruptly tore herself away when her vision began to blur. There were a dozen alternatives on how she had imagined this night to go, but at this moment, she could not have pictured a scenario that was worse. She made her way out of the library blindly, shielding her red-rimmed eyes as several people she recognized tossed greetings her way.

When she reached the first marble staircase on her way to the Gryffindor common room, she lost her footing and rammed into a solid figure.

She opened her mouth to mutter an automatic apology, but heard a familiar grunt of distaste. There was a flash of white-blond hair at the edge of her vision.

"Watch where you're going, Weasley."

Rose's insides clenched as she recovered her balance. _Oh god, not him. Not now. _Of all the people in the whole bloody school. "Sorry."

"Cute. Now will you move?" She looked up and saw his furious expression: blue eyes darkened to a storm, complexion more puce than usual.

Something inside her _really_ didn't feel like taking his shit today. She stood her ground and folded her arms, replying through gritted teeth. "_You_ move."

Scorpius' fists clenched beside him, but he nevertheless shoved past her.

Suddenly, there was a loud crack and the staircase jolted awake. Rose was thrown back against the stair-rail, her hands gripping the marble instinctively for something to hold onto as the steps slowly shifted sideways. Scorpius had been knocked to all fours, but he too had crawled over the steps to the marble railing and had curled himself around it. The staircase shuddered to a stop, groaned, and then let silence descend.

Scorpius was the first to speak. "Buggery hell. I thought they had stopped doing that."

AAA.

"Mr. Malfoy, I am not quite sure I understand."

"What's there to understand? You can't honestly tell me I haven't got the qualifications."

"Well, yes, but there are external factors to consider."

"Why, I never pegged you as the sort, Professor. I thought my unparalleled good looks had no effect on you whatsoever. No _wonder_ I got such outstanding marks in Potions."

"For god's sake, Malfoy, be serious for once. I'm only trying to help you."

"Oh, there's no doubt it's a very serious matter. I've been told I possess a very rare and lethal combination of elegance and contemporary sophistication, with just a dash of that bad-boy recklessness that's enough to make women weak in the knees. Along with old soviet veterans, apparently."

"_Enough_. If you are not going to focus on this session, then I will simply have to be honest with you. It is my belief that if you are to pursue this path you will not be successful."

Silence.

"Well don't suddenly decide to sugar-coat your words, Professor. I'm not thick. I know exactly what you're saying. My family's evil because granddaddy used to be Voldemort's golfing partner and now there's no chance in hell I'm ever going to be an Auror. That's what you mean, isn't it?"

Shuffle. Shuffle.

"I do loath it when teenagers become melodramatic. It's not the end of the world. There are plenty other career paths available for you to choose from, especially with your exceptional transcript. For example-"

"You know what I think is really _fucking_ unfair?"

"Do _no_t use that language with me."

"This is ridiculous. This whole sodding institution is ridiculous. Does it even matter how many O.W.L's I get if I'll just end up getting shoved into some shitty accounting job in some forgotten hole in the Ministry?"

"There's no reason for you to think that way-"

"I bet this wasn't the treatment Potter got from you, was it? I bet he got a gold star for every career prospect he came up with, even though he hasn't got half the marks I've got."

"Take your bloody seat, Mr. Malfoy, and calm yourself."

"Go to hell, Professor. I've heard enough. Career advice, my arse."

AAA.

"Buggery hell. I thought they had stopped doing that."

The marble stairs beneath Scorpius' feet had shuddered to a stop mid-air. Instinctively, he peered over the edge of the banister and looked into a dark crevasse lined with spiraling staircases and red carpeting. There was a flicker of candle-light somewhere far down below and he could hear the faint murmur of student voices. They were trapped.

He banged his fist on the marble railing in frustration and flopped down on the third step, his legs teetering dangerously close to the edge. "For fuck's sake. Now what?"

He heard Rose exhale behind him. "We wait it out. Unless you want to jump down five stories, which in any case I have no objection to."

Scorpius uttered a stream of vehement curses. On any other occasion he would have hated losing his cool in front of Rose Weasley, but he was in no mood to be nonchalant at the moment. It took him several long moments before his anger finally subsided, and when it did, he rested his head against the cool side of the railing, half-hoping the added pressure would cause the staircase to budge.

The clatter of Rose's footsteps halted as she apparently gave up her pacing. He heard the shuffling of her robes as she too settled on the stairs, facing the railing on his opposite side. It struck him suddenly that she had not said a word in the last five minutes.

"Oi, Weasley."

Silence greeted his words.

"Weasley."

Scorpius frowned, undeterred. "Weasley, Weasel-by, Weasel-"

"_What_." She had finally responded, but he could detect the undercurrent of tension in her voice, a different sort of tension than the lively kind that usually accompanied their bickering. This echoed of melancholy.

Scorpius liked to think he always had the upper hand on people. He knew what it was that made them tick, what strings to tug on to ensure they acted in his favor, what chords to push to guarantee they lost their temper. Rose, however, had always been an anomaly, and he wasn't quite sure if he could crack her open and handle whatever came out of that brilliant, unpredictable mind of hers.

"Something on your mind?" He chose to venture, sticking to a question that was relatively neutral.

Rose swiveled around, and he could see the confusion written over her face. More importantly though, he also saw the red tinge in her eyes, the way the tendrils of her hair seemed tossed around carelessly in a manner that was more askew than normal. He knew she had a terrible habit of twisting her hair around her fingers when she was upset.

"This is usually where you tell me to go and drown myself," he added helpfully.

A brief smile flashed over Rose's face and she turned fully around, scooting slightly closer to him. "I could ask you the same question. You didn't look too pleased when I ran into you."

"I thought that was fairly obvious. The running into _you_ was the problem."

She was fully smiling now, which he found ironic. Under any circumstances, he would have been pushing someone else's chords not tugging on their happy strings. An anomaly.

"I just came out of Astrakhan's office," he admitted.

"Oh. Career advice. How was that for you?"

"Bloody useless."

Rose chuckled and nodded in agreement. "Thank god someone else has the same sentiments."

"I swear I walked out more muddled up than I was when I walked in."

"Hear, hear."

"He basically said I had no chance of becoming an Auror because the whole Wizarding population hates my family." He didn't know what possessed him to say that out loud. Perhaps it was the adrenaline of leftover anger still racing through his veins.

Rose's smile faded, and her eyes fixed onto his with a look that he'd never seen on her before. He suddenly realized that under the dim lighting, her face had taken on a soft cream-yellow, like the moon on a clear night. And her hair, which he had always thought to be too ostentatious of a color, was a most peculiar shade of red and gold that resembled the sunset. Even her nose, which under daylight stood out from her a face a little too sharply, now seemed to offer her petite features a cat-like grace.

"That's not true," she said quietly, and just like that, he was pulled back, time continued ticking, and everything he had just witnessed seemed to have vanished.

_Just the lighting, _he thought to himself, _the damn lighting_. "Of course it's true."

"Maybe now," Rose conceded, "But I believe it can change. That it _will _change. Otherwise that war that our parents fought for would have been for nothing."

Scorpius gazed at her sharply and found to his surprise that her expression held no trace of insincerity. Whatever she had said, however presposterous and idealistic it may have sounded, she did truly believe it. "You're awfully sure of yourself, Weasley. Or just really naive."

"Well if you were there for my Career Advice session, you would have definitely thought I was the idiot," she replied with a small laugh, "I'm positive Professor Fell did."

"And then you just decided to run off and cry about it, did you?" remarked Scorpius bluntly, his eyebrows raised. "Seems like something you'd do."

The humor of the situation vanished. Rose shot him a look that plainly expressed her annoyance that he had prodded into her emotions, but he shrugged his shoulders. "It doesn't take a mastermind to notice."

Rose said nothing.

Scorpius exhaled and inched one step closer to the redhead. "Look, Weasley," he said conspiratorially, "Here's something I got into the habit of doing after I realized the simple fact that basically anyone can make their own destiny if they want to. At the end of each day, I take some time to reflect and see if I have made any significant mistakes. If I have I make a motto out of it, so at least I can tell myself that I've simply added on another rule to the set of rules that I live by."

Rose cocked her head, her deep brown eyes wide with surprise. "That's quaint. Do you keep a diary as well?"

Scorpius raised a finger at her. "You know what the motto for today is?"

"What?"

Scorpius folded his arms and sat back. He declared, with a great amount of feeling: " 'Don't give a fuck what anybody else thinks.' "

" 'Don't give a fuck what anybody else thinks,'" repeated Rose, her mouth twitching as though she was fighting down a grin. "Right."

"Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" commented Scorpius with satisfaction, "I'm telling you, the future looks awfully bright. One day I'm going to come back to this place and shove my Auror's badge up Astrakhan's arse. And then, all the pricks who think that they have the right to dictate what a person should be are going to get a good wake-up call." He glanced at her downtrodden face and decided to add on, for the hell of it, "Even thickheaded sixth-years that go by the name of Carter McLaggen."

Rose twisted her head to stare at him. There was a question clearly inked on her face, but he chose to reply with his level gaze. _I'm not blind, Weasley.. _

Her eyes were oddly stirring. _Inquisitive brown orbs_, the thought swam through his mind blearily, and he felt himself drawing closer to her—whether it was physical or mental, he couldn't really distinguish—as if he was a moth and she was a very dangerous flame.

Her mouth had opened and she was about to say something, but before the words could come out, there was a loud groan from beneath their feet.

Scorpius jumped as the staircase jolted backwards. His hand clamped onto one of the railings as the entire marble body began to move. When the bottom step finally attached itself to its original place, Scorpius felt a sweep of relief. He took several steps down until the thought occurred to him that for the sake of politeness he should say goodbye. He turned but saw that Rose was already heading in the opposite direction, her red hair—as ostentatious as ever—streaming behind her.

He smiled wryly to himself, shook his head to rid himself of any more floundering ideas, and then resumed his way back to the Slytherin Common-Room. His temper from before had abated completely.

When he finally entered the premises of his House, he saw Chantal sitting by the fire with her legs tucked neatly beneath her. The firelight cast a glow on her finely-developed features, etching golden lines around her slender nose and curved lips and making her even prettier than she already was. At the sound of his footsteps her head turned, and her caramel hair melted into a gentle rosy color as it faced the light.

"That took long," she stated, arching a finely shaped eyebrow.

"Sorry," he replied, settling into the seat beside her and staring into the fireplace contemplatively. "There was a lot Astrakhan wanted to discuss."

Her soft, warm body curled up against his. She tucked her chin into the hollow of his neck and he felt her lips touch the curve of his chin. She whispered into his ear: "That's alright, _mon cherie_. I forgive you. Anything you want to talk about?"

Thoughts of Astrakhan, the future, and hair the color of the sunset fluttered through his mind like silent moths. "No. Nothing."

AAA.

The Career Advice sessions passed on without much clamor, as was often the case for anything established by academic institutions. Like ticking off a checklist, the fifth-years soon became more pre-occupied with the next obstacle looming before them: O.W.L's. With such emergent stakes at hand, thoughts of the future faded into oblivion only to resurface for brief ponderings before bedtime.

For Carpathia, her thoughts on the future were fixated on a person rather than a career, and they appeared far more frequently than the moments before her bedtime. On the night before her first O.W.L exam, she heard a rustling outside her window and opened it to find a piece of parchment lying on her windowsill. The parchment was etched with the symbol of a black hand. _Midnight, usual spot_, it read.

Carpathia smiled wryly. It was always nice to have friends that made your life a little more interesting.

She draped a black leather jacket over her night-slip, which she had bought from a muggle thrift shop to the chagrin of her parents, and briefly checked herself in the mirror. Her eyes were faded from fatigue and her skin seemed almost translucent under the moonlight, but otherwise she looked rather sexy. The thought of what Devon might say made her blood run a bit faster.

"Where are you going, Carpathia?" a soft, sleepy voice emanated from the corner of the room, and she froze.

The maroon curtains of Rose's four-poster bed parted and the redhead's face protruded through, her eyes barely open.

Carpathia appraised her roommate with faint amusement. "Go back to sleep. I'll be back soon."

"I'm a prefect, you know. I could dock points for this," said Rose, struggling to her feet. She stood up and yawned, swaying slightly.

"You wouldn't. Not to your own house," stated Carpathia. She watched her words register on Rose's face with satisfaction.

"No, I wouldn't," amended Rose, shaking her head. "But that's beside the point. Honestly, Carpathia, we have exams tomorrow and-"

"I'll be fine," interrupted Carpathia, putting her hands on Rose's shoulders and steering the girl towards her bed. "Tell Al not to worry."

Rose mumbled something unintelligible. With a soft prod from Carpathia, she fell face-forward into her blankets and within seconds, seemed to have gone unconscious.

Carpathia gazed down at her for several seconds. Then, she slipped on her shoes and crept out of the dormitories.

Carpathia was good at stealth. She had roamed the hallways after-hours on numerous occasions, to the point where she almost had a sixth sense for where the caretakers might be. Within minutes she was out on the grounds. A chilly spring breeze swept through her, but she shrugged it off. She felt a familiar thrill as the dark, spindly trees of the Forbidden Forest loomed closer and closer, and when she finally took the first step onto the earthy, leaf-covered ground, a sense of home enveloped her like a warm cloak.

_Here. _She breathed in and out, closing her eyes in relief and feeling the tranquility of the forest roll across her skin.

There was a small caw to her left. She cocked her head to the side and saw the familiar delicate form of a baby HIpprogriff descending down the tree closest to her. Its claws scraped the bark in a gawky manner, but its amber eyes were wide and intelligent.

"Hello, Clumsy," said Carpathia softly, stretching out her hand cautiously to prevent frightening her long-time companion away. "Where's mummy?"

The hippogriff leapt off the tree and fluttered on unsteady wings towards her. It made several circles around her head, nipping at a strand of her hair here and there. Finally, the hippogriff snorted with satisfaction and landed on her shoulder, rubbing its soft feathers against the side of her head with an affectionate croon.

"I missed you as well," replied Carpathia, reaching into her pocket and retrieving several ripped chunks of bread. "I know its not meat, but…"

The Hippogriff snapped up the crumbs without a second's hesitation, its beak accidentally pinching a good portion of her hand. Carpathia bit her lip, but said nothing. _Animals_, she thought, watching the hippogriff crunch down on bread crumbs with uncomplicated pleasure, _are so much simpler than humans. So much easier to let your guard down around. _

"Thia!" called a voice behind her and a light flared out into darkness, casting long shadows from the trees. The hippogriff shrieked and dove into the hollow of the tree that it had come from, leaving behind several wilting feathers. Carpathia took a second to lament the sudden absence of her friend, and then patted her hands against her clothing and turning to face the source of the voice.

"Erin," she acknowledged with a dip of her head as the light floated closer. The tanned, narrow face of Erin Stormwallis appeared, her thick voluminous hair looking wild and unruly against the setting of the forest.

"Took you long enough," Erin responded with a twitch of her head, "Come on. We're waiting for you."

The light was unnecessary. Carpathia could have found the clearing in her sleep, so comfortable she was to the paths of the forest, but she followed nevertheless. When she entered the clearing, she noted two other lamps that half-formed a circle and a crackling fire that had been conjured up in the middle. The recognizable figures of a sixth-year boy and a seventh-year girl, which formed the other two members of their group, were whispering and laughing with their backs turned to the fire. A bottle of Firewhiskey lay askew on the grass close to them.

"Oi, you lot. Look who finally made it," Erin announced, setting down her lamp and seating herself on the grass with a thump.

Keegan turned. He was a slight, skinny boy with skin as pale as a vampire's and dark curly hair that was styled in a manner freakishly similar to Devon's. He wore several metal rings with spikes attached on his fingers and was dressed in a complete set of dusky grey. A cigarette hung from his unusually full lips carelessly.

"Well good of you to come!" he said in a tone that was too loud. He whipped the cigarette out of his mouth and stood up with a slight sway in his step. "You must catch up, my dear. We have so much havoc yet to wreak on our bodies."

Carpathia smiled wryly and Erin rolled her eyes. Drunk, as usual.

"Keegan, please don't make a complete arse of yourself. Carpathia obviously doesn't need much help with that," said the female beside him, her voice as smooth and cool as what Carpathia imagined a snake might sound like when its scales slid across damp leaves. Seventh-year Adara Silvas swiveled around with unparalleled poise, her thin golden legs protruding outward as she bent to ash out her cigarette. She tilted her head towards her Carpathia and a curtain of her raven hair cascaded down the side of her swan-like shoulders. Her haunting eyes sized Carpathia up with a barely concealed look of distaste and Carpathia felt a clench in her gut.

"Blimey, look at those legs," Keegan commented with a flip of his hair, "Do tell me, princess. How on earth do you manage to maintain that color during cold season?"

"My dearest Keegan, there's no need for maintenance if you've got the natural genes for it," replied Adara with the curl of her lip.

"Where's Devon?" said Carpathia quietly. She had noted that there was no extra lamp lying nearby or the fact that neither of the group members seemed perturbed by his absence.

Erin coughed and opted to take a swig of the firewhiskey that Keegan silently handed to her. There was an awkward pause as Adara slowly lit up her next cigarette.

"We didn't invite him," she replied after her first drag, blowing the smoke in Carpathia's direction.

"Why?" said Carpathia, letting the smoke wash over her without blinking an eye.

"Why not?" the girl countered tauntingly.

"Because these hangouts were his idea, and we don't ever do anything without him. Because he's our friend," replied Carpathia, fixing a stern look on Adara's beautiful carefree face.

Adara laughed. "Look at her, you two. How endearing; the love-struck little girl waiting ever so patiently for her Prince Charming." Keegan snorted into his drink, and she patted him on the back. "For heaven's sake, Carpathia, don't make yourself so obvious."

Carpathia slipped her hands into the pockets of her jacket so that Adara couldn't see them shaking. "That's not it," she replied stiffly.

"Of course it is. You even dressed up, didn't you? Put on an oh-so-revealing slip and a leather jacket-you know Devon goes _mad _over leather jackets. Hoped to run off with him for a little snog when the rest of us didn't notice, hm?"

"Stop it, Adara," cut in Erin with a sharp look, "You're not exactly being inconspicuous with your feelings either. Just because Devon couldn't take the fact that you were such a prissy bitch doesn't mean you have to whinge about it to the rest of us. Leave her alone."

For a moment Adara looked as if someone had slacked her in the jaw, but then her expression cleared over and she shrugged. "Don't pretend you've never been in love with him either, Stormwallis."

Erin said nothing.

Keegan raised his hand and hiccupped. "I know I have."

"We all have," emphasized Adara, "Which is the point I'm trying to make to our youngest." Her eyes flickered back to Carpathia's muted expression. "I've had a long history with Devon Lynch, and even after all our ups and downs, even after all those years of '_friendship_', as he likes to call it, he didn't seem to have a problem tossing me aside. And he won't have a problem doing it to anyone else."

She narrowed her eyes at Carpathia in a silent challenge. "Whatever it is you think makes you different, I guarantee it's not enough."

Carpathia was silent, willing her face to give away nothing. _Pegasus_, she thought to herself, _it's still our secret, and only ours. _She could still remember Devon's face inches away from hers, those sculpted lips uttering the words: "_You're something else_."

"I don't look at him the same way anymore," admitted Erin, blowing out her drag in a skillful spiral. "There's something about the way he acts that doesn't seem to make sense. We're all growing out of our misfit phases, but he keeps getting darker and darker."

"He's unhinged," Adara put it simply. Keegan eyed her with a slight look of alarm, but she persisted. "What? You know it's true. We all used to admire him. He had the most brilliant ideas on how to be different from everyone else but back then, it was just fun and games. People used to fear us for testing out hexes in the woods and smoking before it became cool, and we thought it was hilarious." She took a small swig out of the Firewhiskey bottle. "But honestly, buying cigarettes off shady dealers? Skiving N.E.W.T's? That's him, not us. I'm not throwing my bloody future away for some bloke who can afford to because his daddy used to be an international Quidditch star."

"I'd throw my future away for an international Quidditch star," blurted Keegan with complete honesty.

"Well not all of us are poofs like you," countered Erin, tousling the boy's hair. The four of them shared a brief laugh over this and the tension cracked abruptly. Carpathia finally relented and accepted the cigarette that Erin passed to her and the bottle Keegan rolled her way, relishing the night with the people she had come to accept as her companions and letting the hours wash over her one by one.

When the first rays of dawn broke through the horizon and Erin declared that it was best to get some sleep before they all took their exams, the group slowly and dazedly headed back to the castle, blinking away the sudden fatigue that crashed down on them.

Carpathia, as usual, strayed a little far behind to feel the forest at her back. To her surprise, Adara waited several steps behind Keegan and Erin so that she could walk beside her.

"Little Thia," she stated, her voice hoarse but still managing to sound infuriatingly sultry. "You're not still mad at me, are you?"

Adara always had a way of shaping her words to make them feel like talons. Carpathia kept her face neutrally blank. "Of course not. Friends don't stay mad at each other for too long."

"Naturally," Adara replied, echoing Carpathia's dead-pan tone with her own. The girl picked a leaf out of her dark hair. "So you understand why I'd want you to stay away from Devon, don't you?"

That was it. Carpathia's emotions slipped, and her fists clenched the sides of her dress. "You know, Adara, for all your efforts to be so cool all the time you're painfully transparent." She stopped and faced the girl with a look she'd never given to anyone before, a look filled with cold condescension. "Admit that you're jealous."

"Of what?" inquired Adara in a dangerously low voice, folding her arms.

"You heard what Erin said. He never fancied you that way. Maybe the two of you shared a couple snogs, maybe he even took you out to dinner once or twice, but in the end you just couldn't understand him, could you? All that shit you spewed out about him being unhinged like he's some wild animal…has it ever occurred to you that you lacked the ability to figure out what it was he needed?" Carpathia's voice had begun to tremble, but she pressed on. "I understand him. That's why you hate me. That's why you've always hated me. It's the most petty excuse in the world, but all it takes to remedy that is just for you to bloody admit that _you're jealous_."

Adara's eyes flashed and she let out a loud hoot of laughter. "So you think you're special because you and Devon share some common understanding? What if I told you I _knew_? About your little 'secret', the one that could easily get you expelled if I told anyone?"

Ice-water flooded Carpathia's veins. She stood stock-still, her mouth open, scrutinizing the elder girl's face for any sign of a lie but realizing that for all the things she knew about Adara, the girl never spoke anything but the truth. The seconds ticked by, until Carpathia knew that there was nothing to do but concede.

"He told you?" she said quietly, her throat dry.

"I guess he didn't have much time to watch his tongue," replied Adara, her eyes glittering with cruelty, "It must have been preoccupied."

_No. He couldn't have. It puts both our futures at risk. Doesn't he care? _

"I didn't think you were that stupid, Carpathia," continued Adara with a hiss, "_Pegasus_, honestly? He offered it to me as well, you know, but at least I had the sense to turn it down. It's the most destructive magical drug there is, which is why the Ministry of Magic banned it in the first place. And fine, suppose you're okay with breaking the law, but why the bloody hell would you allow him to call you some silly nickname that makes what you two have been doing so damn obvious to the rest of the world? I might be the jealous bitch, but at least I'm not the slag who got screwed over by some idiot." She shoved past Carpathia, almost knocking her backwards against a tree, and strode off into the distance with leaves crackling beneath her feet. Carpathia gazed after her, her feet numb and her chest aching.

AAA.

It was four in the morning. Al breathed a sign of relief when he saw that the dot labeled 'Carpathia Nott' was moving sluggishly from the Forbidden Forest towards the castle. He whispered 'Mischief Managed' and stuffed the Marauder's Map beneath his pillow along with his face. Sleep at last.

And yet...

It wasn't.

Al rolled over onto his back, frustrated. He'd been on Carpathia Watch all night, alternating between O.W.L review notes and poring over that bloody map, but even after he was certain she'd gone back up to bed the feeling of anxiety was there, nestled under his collarbone like some unwanted disease.

_She's been in love with you for ages. _

Isabel's words echoed in his mind, turning over and over as if somehow there was an alternative meaning to it. The idea was preposterous. He could hear his own denial echoing in reply.

_We're just mates. You're adorable when you're jealous, do you know that?_

He closed his eyes, willing his mind to stop churning. Immediately the weariness of staying up all night took hold of his body, pulling it into sleep like quicksand, but his mind was still running and it wouldn't stop—

-until a familiar memory, which had been burning at the back of mind the last few weeks, burst into recollection and engulfed his subconscious.

_It was three weeks ago. _

_James was throwing an enormous party, something that had to do with either his birthday or April Fool's or a combination of both. It was meant to commemorate his exit out of Hogwarts, him being a seventh-year and all, and he had assured the school population that it was going to be bigger than big. Epic. Hogwarts was abuzz with it. _

_Isabel wanted him to go. A massive bonfire out on the grounds? It was wicked. _

"_Please, Al, I know you and him aren't on the best of terms, but you never go to these things with me. You're my _boyfriend_." _

_He said he would try. She looked disappointed. _

_Halfway through the night, he looked out the window, saw the flickering amber lights, and thought of Isabel, dancing out there on her own and hoping he would show up. It was enough to change his mind. _

_He changed into something button-down and casual, and then added a tie so that James wouldn't make a nasty comment. _

_ He was about to enter the party when he saw the familiar figure of Carpathia sitting on a patch of grass and bent over in the shadows, her short raven hair spilling into her hands. She was wearing the lace-patterned animal stockings he'd gotten her for Christmas. Her shoulders shook with grief. _

_He stopped still. _

_Not Carpathia. She was the strongest person he knew, and he had never in a million years thought he would see her cry. _

_He ran to her without even thinking. "Thia. Thia, look at me. It's Al. What's the matter?" _

_She lifted her head up and his heart contracted. Her eyes looked lost and disoriented. Tears streamed down the sides of her cheeks silently. _

"_Al," she murmured, and slipped her arms around his neck, leaning forward to collapse into his open arms. He could smell whiskey off her breath. "I'm such an idiot, Al." _

"_Of course you are. Let's get you inside," he replied, wondering what his dear, stupid friend had gotten herself into now. He eased her slender frame up next to him and made sure her arm was secured firmly around his shoulder. Together, they stumbled back into Gryffindor Tower. He knew the password. _

_He couldn't get up to the girls' dormitories, so he laid her out on one of the scarlet couches in the common-room and summoned down her blankets. She was muttering to herself. He sat next to her and leaned back, watching her face contort with the distasteful consequences of binge-drinking. _

"_What happened, Thia," he said quietly, pushing the hair away from her face. _

_Carpathia shook her head as if she couldn't even bear the memory. "Devon—Devon said he was going to meet me outside the woods right before James' party. We were going to…" she hiccupped, and Al waited patiently. "Go for a snog. It's his 17__th__ birthday today, so I got him something special. Swiftsilver eggs, because he's always liked birds. But then I saw him with—with Adara." She squeezed her eyes shut, and a fresh batch of tears dribbled out the corner of her eyes. "I don't know why I'm so upset. I was always fine with him snogging other girls, but I think it just hit me that—that I really like him, Al. I like him so much, and it's terrifying…"_

_Al said nothing. He was still stroking her hair, he realized, but it didn't hurt to keep going. It was better to stroke her hair and stay quiet than let the seething emotions inside consume him entirely. He didn't want to think about strangling Devon Lynch, but he knew the violent urge was there. He vowed the next time he and Devon were alone he would sock the damn bastard for what he had done to his best friend, for making her feel worthless when she was the reason why he'd stayed at Hogwarts all those years ago. _

"_Forget about him," he said calmly, and she opened her eyes. "Promise me you won't wake up and go back to him, alright? I couldn't stand it if he did this to you again." _

_She reached up and took his hand, shaking her head again. "I think I love him, Al." _

_The impact of her words pinched him somewhere deep in his chest. He stared into her sad eyes and squeezed her hand. "You're fifteen. You don't love him. He's just the first bloke you've ever fancied." _

_Carpathia chuckled and her head lolled to the side. He felt her hand grow slack as she drifted off into sleep, but not before he heard her murmur almost inaudibly: "If only." _

_He held onto her hand for several long moments and watched her eyes flutter as she lost herself into deep slumber. When he was certain she had fallen asleep, he uncurled his fingers and placed her hand gingerly by the side of her head. After allowing one last look at her, he turned and headed for the door, his head still spinning with what had happened. _

_The next day, he told Isabel he had gotten the flu. _

Al's eyes opened and he stared into the blank emerald ceiling above him. _She's been in love with you for ages. _Did it matter if it was true?

Whatever feelings that had existed were obviously long gone, but more importantly, it was clear that their friendship had withstood it. After all, they had shared every emotional hurdle, every possible obstacle their family and peers could have thrown at them. They were two oddball halves that filled a misshapen hole.

It didn't matter if he couldn't decide between Quidditch and Potions. It didn't matter if Astrakhan thought he was an idiot for not having his future figured out. The one thing Al knew for certain was that no matter what, Carpathia would always be his friend and he would always be hers-even if that came with occupational hazards.

**That was a long one! **

**Hope you guys don't hate me too much for the long hiatus. I'm trying to keep this story going and juggling all kinds of things at the moment. **

**So now that the story's been set for all kinds of drama, the next few chapters will be full of it. **

**Love, **

**MIssuswitch **


	9. Part One of That Day: The Breaking Point

**Part One of That Day: The Breaking Point**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I just tinker-tanker. **

**AAA. **

There are days that are ordinary. Students go to class. Quidditch players play Quidditch. Slytherins stick with their fellow Slytherins. Girlfriends and boyfriends snog in broom cupboards. The very definition implies that the events that transpire on such days don't differ much from one another.

Occasionally, there comes an extraordinary day. The type of day where things seem unpredictable, and what's unexpected becomes a reality. A beautiful sunny morning in December, for example, or a day where class is adjourned ten minutes early because the Transfiguration professor feels strangely generous.

But then there are those days that become turning points in people's lives. Those are the days that set off a domino of such critical events that months or years later, a person could reflect back and say, 'Yes, that was the day it all started'.

Today was one of those days.

AAA.

_Best day of O.W.L week so far_, thought Scorpius when he woke up to the sensation of sixth-year Jenna Gilbert's warm (albeit slightly bony) body on top of his. She was doing something marvelous with her lips into the hollow of his neck.

He gave a little groan and snaked his hand up her shirt, feeling a little prick of delight as she giggled into his ear. With his free hand he pulled her face towards his and slowly moved his lips over hers.

They stayed in that position for several minutes, snogging without the least bit of consideration to his roommates, until Scorpius felt Jenna's hand shifting downwards from his chest, across his abdomen, and further below. There was a metallic click as he heard her unbutton his pajama bottoms.

Scorpius sat up immediately and pushed her hand away, the momentum nearly causing her to topple off the bed. She let out a small indignant squeal. "Scorp! What's the problem?"

_You calling me Scorp for one. _

He eyed the blond-haired girl kneeling on his sheet covers. Jenna Gilbert, one of Hogwarts' finest and most shameless specimens. He tried not to stare too long at the black bra that peeped out of her lacy pink nightie.

"We can't do that now," he replied, tearing his eyes away as he checked the clock on his nightstand. _9:00. _"I've got my Potions O.W.L in an hour, remember?"

"Bullocks. My fifth-year mates tell me you're one of the best in that class," snorted Jenna, which really wasn't every attractive. She leaned in with a sly expression. "Afraid you're not going to be able to focus?"

Scorpius rolled his eyes and got out of bed. "Jenna love, you flatter yourself." He smirked to himself when he heard her scoff in outrage behind him.

He walked towards the bathroom, counting the number of heads still left in the room. Lucas' impeccably made sheets indicated that he had already left. Gareth was nowhere to be seen. And Potter, the lazy arse, was still fast asleep with his red hair barely visible from under his pillow.

The bathroom door opened, and Gareth stepped out with his toothbrush hanging from his mouth. The two of them shared a knowing look before passing one another. Scorpius could swear he heard him snort before the door closed behind him.

It was one of those days, Scorpius thought as he eyed himself in the mirror. His silver-blond hair fell in clean, effortless strands around his face, framing his refined angular cheekbones and lean jaw. His blue eyes were tireless and clear. All in all, he looked like he was ready to conquer the bloody world.

When Scorpius walked out of the bathroom, he was irritated to see Jenna still lounging about on his bed half-dressed, chatting in that obnoxious way of hers with what seemed to be an overwhelmed Al. The poor redhead was attempting to answer her many questions in his pajamas, but he couldn't look away from the exposed parts of her body.

"Shouldn't you be going by now?" Scorpius interrupted firmly, cutting Jenna off mid-sentence. Jenna shot him an irritated expression.

"Could you be any more rude, Scorp?"

"Well, I've got to leave in about ten minutes, and I'd prefer if nobody saw you leaving the Slytherin dormitories, seeing as you're not even supposed to be here," he replied curtly. "No rudeness intended, of course." He could see Al trying not to snicker from the corner of his eye.

Jenna rose to full height and opened her mouth to retort.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

"Scorpius!" His blood froze as the familiar lilting call of Chantal pierced through the wood. "Darling, you were supposed to meet me downstairs five minutes ago. Did you sleep in again?"

"_Shit_!" Scorpius swore in hushed tones, giving Jenna a look that plainly said: _Do you see what I mean now?_ The girl looked panicked as well. No one wanted to be on Chantal's bad side.

"Potter, tell her I'm not here."

"_Me_?" exclaimed Al, a grin slowly spreading across his face, "Like hell I will."

Scorpius glared at him. "Don't be a prick."

"You _really_ don't have the right to say that right now."

"Fair enough, but I'm asking you nicely."

"This is _nice_?"

"Scorpius!" The banging persisted and grew louder in volume. Scorpius rubbed his temples.

"What do I have to do?" he hissed frantically, clasping his hands together.

"Well you could say 'I'm sorry', for starters."

"I apologize, Potter, a thousand times over. I hope somebody rewards you with bars of gold and a dozen nude virgins for your toil. _Now please-_"

"And I think you should get down on your knees and bow as well."

Scorpius' jaw went slack and he gave Al an incredulous look. "You are _not_ serious."

"God, this is going to be great. I knew it was going to be a good day." Al sighed for dramatic effect and sat on the edge of his bed with an anticipated expression. "Well, Malfoy?"

Scorpius looked at the boy's bottle-green eyes and knew the idiot wasn't going to budge. Grimacing painfully, he went down on his knees, quickly bumped his head against the floor and stood up hastily as if he had touched some lethal disease.

"Okay, you got what you wanted. Now will you bloody drive her away so that I don't get my insides skewered before breakfast?"

Al wore a broad triumphant grin. "Chantal!" he called over his shoulder, "He's not here. He went down to breakfast."

There was silence as the incessant knocking finally stopped. They heard a loud puff of air as Chantal released her frustration, and then her footsteps echoed off into the distance accompanied with an impressive stream of French curses.

"Well, that probably didn't help," stated Scorpius with a wince, "She'll probably skewer me anyway for not escorting her down to the Banquet Hall." Jenna made a small movement in the corner and he was reminded that she was still here. "Flippin' hell, Gilbert, that was a close one. Next time when I say out by breakfast, I mean it."

"You don't have to tell me twice," the blond girl snapped, slipping on her last article of clothing before her hand turned the knob of the door. She checked both left and right ends of the hallway before stepping out and turning to face him with a scornful look. "You really are a prick, Malfoy." The door slammed behind her so loudly that the walls trembled.

"Now there's a good way to wake up in the morning," noted Al in a dead-pan voice.

Shortly after, the two boys agreed to walk down to their Potions examination together, seeing as they were the only two left in the room and probably the only two in their year who felt that they didn't need to do any last-minute revising. They headed down to the dungeons with a considerable amount of confidence, engaging in what was surprisingly a friendly conversation.

"Why don't you just tell Chantal that you're seeing other people?" inquired Al, rubbing his still-sleepy eyes.

"Have you ever tried telling a banshee that it really shouldn't sing?" Seeing Al's blank expression, Scorpius shrugged. "Me neither, but that's how I would imagine that conversation would go."

Al took a moment to process this. "You're mad, Malfoy. I thought the two of you were happy. In a twisted, pretentious and completely artificial sort of way," he added with a grin.

"_Happy_?" repeated Scorpius as though he'd never heard the word before. "With _Chantal_? Have you _met_ Chantal? 'Scorpius, buy me this fifty-Galleon necklace that I'll never wear again', 'Scorpius, escort me to every sodding meal because otherwise I'll die of heart failure', 'No, that's not a real kiss; Englishmen don't know passion like the French', 'Oh, look at all the poor scum on the streets who wish they were us.'"

Al snorted. "That last one actually sounds a bit like you."

"It does, doesn't it," Scorpius admitted.

"So why's she still your girlfriend?"

"She's not my girl-" Scorpius started on the phrase that he'd uttered a million times before, but interrupted himself when he realized that Potter, the sheltered simpleton, would never understand. "It's not like we don't have any fun. You've just got to drown out the noise and stare at her tits, that's all."

Al scrunched up his nose and his freckles clustered together in one spot. "Real nice, Malfoy."

Potter's judgmental tone was starting to get on Scorpius' nerves. He spotted a familiar mane of light-brown hair heading their way and decided to poke a little fun at him.

"Don't talk about something you've never had, Potter."

Al spluttered, his cheeks predictably turning beet-red. "I—you—how would you—I've got Isabel," he finished lamely.

Scorpius smirked. "I might be the cheat, but at least I'm not the boyfriend without benefits."

"Sod off, Malfoy. It's none of your business."

"How long has it been now, almost a year? Have you even groped around a little?"

"Shut up."

"No, honestly, tell me. What do her tits feel like?"

"I—that's-" Al's head looked like it was about to blow its top off. He was completely oblivious to the fact that the object of his affections was drawing nearer and nearer.

Scorpius folded his arms and gazed at the boy with his lip curling. "From what I know, if a girl has been going out with a bloke for about a year and he hasn't pushed for anything, she's usually willing to make the first move. Maybe you ought to ask her whether there's another reason for it." He paused. "Or another bloke."

There it was. Al's hands balled into fists and he swung at Scorpius, who dodged it easily with a side-step. "You're a _bastard_."

"Well, prove me wrong. Tell me what her tits feel like."

"Her tits feel _fine_!" The words left his mouth as an angry shout and reverberated across the walls of the hallway. With the perfect timing of a bell-tower, Isabel stopped right behind Al and, having heard his previous outburst, blurted out in shock: "_Al_?"

Al's eyes widened in surprise and he turned around to face his girlfriend, his mouth rounded into a scandalized 'O'.

"Oops," remarked Scorpius, trying his best to hold his laughter in, "Gotta run. Nature calls." He stepped around the pair and headed off into the distance, knowing full well that Potter was going to do a miserably inadequate job of explaining himself. Taking the piss on Albus Potter was a sport that could never run out of steam.

He stopped outside the Banquet Hall and ducked his head for a quick look. When he noted that Chantal was nowhere to be seen on the Slytherin table (although he did earn a nasty look coming from Jenna among the Ravenclaws), he swiped a couple of croissants from the breakfast bowl and drained a goblet of orange juice.

Still chewing on his way out, he glanced down at his watch. Twenty minutes until his O.W.L. Plenty of time to kill.

He headed up to the fifth floor, where he knew there was a lovely Prefect's bathroom he was entitled to, and decided he had nothing really better to do than to admire his own reflection for awhile. As he rounded the steps leading to the third floor, he heard a series of shouts echoing from one of the empty Transfiguration classrooms down the hall.

He stopped, frowned, and turned to inspect the source of the noise.

A door opened, and he heard a familiar female voice shout angrily, _"…going to be late for my O.W.L. Just let me go."_ Scorpius caught the flash of red hair and saw the petite figure of Rose Weasley stepping out in the hallway, the majority of her face obscured by shadow. What were the odds of bumping into her again, of all places?

"…_can't do this to me. You're not leaving until we've resolved this,"_ shouted another voice, male, in reply. Rose uttered a small, angry cry as she was pulled back into the room. The door slammed behind her.

Scorpius knew from deep in his bones that there was something out of place. He had been around quarrelling couples for as long as he could remember.

_Bloody McLaggen. _He took a deep breath and strode forward.

AAA.

Rose woke up that day knowing she was going to have to dump Carter McLaggen.

Since that last confrontation in the library, she had spent a good deal sitting around and wondering what her next course of action was. Her mind was in a continuous seesaw. Stay with Carter, dump Carter. It was unnerving. She wracked her brain and forgot about her studies. She consulted every novel she had in her trunk for answers.

But that morning, when she opened her eyes and saw the sunlight lighting up the room with such promise, she knew.

The realization came with harrowing sadness. All the way down to breakfast her emotions circulated heavily in the back of her mind, but now she knew there was another issue at hand.

How to tell him? _When _to tell him?

She didn't want to drop the bomb in the middle of exam week, but he wasn't speaking to her and she didn't know when he ever would.

She received her answer on the way out of the Banquet Hall. Out of nowhere, he appeared in front of her for the first time in days, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his golden locks hanging limply to the side.

"Rose," he said by way of greeting, his voice the softest that it had been for a long time.

Rose stopped in her tracks and almost dropped the croissant in her hand, shocked by this miracle that fate had planted in front of her. "You're—you're talking to me."

"I'm an idiot," Carter said in deadened tones. "I know I shouldn't be ambushing you like this before your Potions O.W.L, but I looked up and saw you and I knew I had to say something…" His eyes flickered up to hers, full of shame. "I've been so stupid."

Rose said nothing and waited for him to continue.

"I kissed Ellie. In the library, when we were revising," he admitted, and Rose's mouth twitched slightly. As if she hadn't already known. The pain, nevertheless, stung her from the inside out.

"It meant nothing, I promise. I was angry with you, and she was, well, _Easy Ellie_. The last couple days I've had a lot to think about, and I just—just keep thinking about the good times, Rose. We've had so many good times, and even when it got bad you were always the better person, the one who always tried to fix things." He strode over and impulsively took her hands, fixing his gaze on her imploringly. "I want to fix things now, Rosie."

They were the words she'd been waiting to hear. She knew the alternate Rose, the one who had up until twenty-fours ago loved Carter, would have been skipping in her steps by now, but this present Rose was mute. This Rose was thinking about Mark Twain and self-discovery.

It was a day so full of promise. She took a deep breath. "Let's go somewhere and talk, Carter."

AAA.

_The day he had asked her to go out with him was the first day of her fourth-year at Hogwarts. _

Ever since their encounter at the Three Broomsticks that weekend at Hogsmeade, Carter had made an impact on Rose. When she saw his profile at the end of a corridor, her heart would skip several beats. When he spoke to her, even if it was just a passing hello, her eyes would look anywhere but his face in fear of giving away her emotions. One time she dropped a pen, and when he stooped down to pick it up for her, she caught a whiff of his hair and thought it smelled like vanilla and sweetness and home.

Over time, they started talking. Little flirtations here and there. He raved about the wild moors of his childhood home in Ireland and his mother's blueberry pies. He understood what it was like to have annoyingly close similarities to his parents. Sometimes, they would crack jokes about Quidditch, their professors, or Malfoy.

On the last day of third-year, Rose had gotten wind that Carter fancied someone and that he was in a secret relationship. It was a passing remark that Dominique had uttered on the train while she and Lily grinded out the rumor mill. They didn't know it, but a piece of Rose's heart had crumbled into dust.

When Rose came back for her fourth-year of school, she was all set to forget about her little third-year crush, convinced that she had grown up and was moving onto better things. The train-ride to Hogwarts passed by with her mind only lingering on Carter once or twice. When the train arrived at its destination, she got off and headed to the carriages with the rest of her peers. All was normal.

Then she saw him—taller, leaner, and a damn lot better looking than before—and her heart sputtered awake. But this time, he didn't simply walk past her with a swift hello.

He stepped in front the carriage that she was about to climb into, obstructing her path. His face wore an abashed, blushing expression she had never seen on him before.

"Don't get on," he blurted out, holding up his hands. He amended himself quickly, "Well, you can get on later, but not until after I'm finished."

"Oh. Okay," responded Rose with her mouth agog. "So, um. Hello."

"Hi."

"How—how was your summer?"

"Terrific. Really terrific," replied Carter in an odd voice, his knee jiggling agitatedly as he stood rooted in one spot. "Mum really stepped up on the blueberry pies and dad was—was terrific and I really didn't come here to talk about my summer." He stepped forward and closed the distance between them, planting his lips on hers without another second's hesitation.

It was surreal, more than surreal. For a second, Rose thought she was having an out-of-body experience because in her mind's eye she saw herself, with her untidy red-hair and sweaty clothing, locking lips with this wonderful handsome boy who was perfect to her and thinking, _this is not happening to me_.

He drew away from her with a wide, joyful smile. "I thought about you the whole time," he murmured, cupping the side of her face.

This was happening all too fast. It was the first time a boy had ever kissed her, and even that wasn't fully sinking in.

"I did too," she said faintly. She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the daze clouding her brain. "So that secret relationship didn't pan out then?"

"What secret relationship?" he repeated, looking slightly confused. The smile never left his face.

"I thought you fancied-" began Rose, but then she realized that she had heard it from _Dominique_ and _Lily_, and knew that she was never going to trust anything word-of-mouth from loquacious first-years again.

"You?" said Carter so softly that it was painfully clear to Rose in that moment that, of course, it had been _her _the whole time, that she was stupid for having thought otherwise and moping all summer.

"Well that works out then," she hummed in reply, throwing her arms around him happily. They snogged for several long delicious moments, admidst many catcalls and snide remarks telling them to disappear behind the bushes. When they broke apart, Carter asked:

"This is obviously redundant, but will you go out with me?"

She slipped her hand into his and told him yes.

AAA.

"I don't understand," said Carter hollowly.

They were sitting in an empty Transfiguration classroom on the third floor, the first place they had found that was unlocked, vacant, and private. Rose was perched on one of the desks in the front row, having purposely picked it so that she could deliver the news with steady limbs. Carter stood, propped up against the teacher's blackboard with his arms hanging limply by his sides, facing her with a shocked expression.

"I'm sorry," Rose said softly, trying her best to hide the fact that her hands were shaking in her lap.

"You're breaking up with me because you woke up today and had a bleeding epiphany," stated Carter in a tone of dull incredulity.

Rose stayed quiet.

"That's not a reason," said Carter in a choked voice, more to himself than to her, really. "At least tell me why."

"It wasn't just a sudden realization, Carter," Rose tried to explain in gentle, firm tones, but she couldn't look him in the eye. "We've been having problems for too long, and I know now that those problems are never going away."

"I don't believe that," replied Carter fiercely, coming towards her. "You can't just—for Merlin's sake, at least give us another chance." His eyes were already tinged red and there was a lump bobbing in his throat. Rose's heart contracted with guilt at the sight of Carter so vulnerable, but there was a part of her that felt cheated out of her emotions. _Where were you the whole of last week, when all I wanted to do was make it right for us again? _

He took her hands and she didn't resist. With a sigh, he buried his head against her shoulder and held her. She felt his breath on her skin when he spoke. "Please, Rose. Don't let the good times count for nothing."

AAA.

_It was a year into their relationship when Carter finally met Rose's parents. _

They were on the train back to King's Cross, sitting cozily in a compartment that was stuffed to the brink with Gryffindors—or at least, _her_ Gryffindors.

"Could you _please_ snog your boyfriend in a different compartment," complained Lily loudly, and Rose buried her head into Carter's neck to stifle her laughter. The other Weasleys echoed Lily's sentiments-including Fred, who conjured up a number of sparks in the shape of a tomato and hurled it with considerable force towards the couple.

Rose finally conceded to the groans of her family and led Carter out of the compartment and when the door shut behind them, they burst out into bouts of uncontrollable laughter. Then they resumed where they had left off, fumbling with aimless hands and feet towards the doorway to another compartment. Their wide goofy grins never exited their faces. They were disgustingly happy.

As the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station, Rose stepped onto the platform with one hand tugging her luggage along and the other tucked into Carter's sweaty palm. He had good reason for sweating because there, standing with expectant looks underneath the 9 and ¾ platform sign, were her parents.

Her mother looked prim and neat as usual, dressed in black blazer over a blue blouse with her graying brown hair pulled back into a bun. Her brow furrowed momentarily in surprise when she registered Rose's companion but it was quickly smoothed over by a sharp and knowing smile. Her father-on the other hand-looked as sloppy as her mother was neat. His plaid button-down was wrinkled over his rotund figure, and he looked as if he'd half-heartedly put on a tie today.

As Rose had predicted, his eyes locked onto her and Carter's joined hands, causing his cheeks to bloat in a manner that was akin to a bullfrog's.

"Rose, Hugo," said Hermione Granger-Weasley with a relieved sigh, collecting her youngest into her arms and cuffing Rose tenderly on the cheek. "It's been so quiet around the house. Thank goodness the two of you are back."

"Hullo mum," replied Rose gently, letting go of Carter's hand so that she could embrace her mother. She caught the familiar whiff of lavender soap and let the idea that she was finally home again wash over her. "Hullo dad," she added on, turning towards her father.

"Rose," responded Ron Weasley gruffly, enveloping his daughter with thick, heavy arms. When they let go, Rose glanced over at Carter's sheepish expression and took a deep breath.

"Mum, dad, I would like you to meet my boyfriend Carter."

Her father's smile faltered.

"Hello Mr. and Mrs. Weasley—Granger-Weasley," Carter corrected himself nervously as he shook both of her parents' hands. "It's a real honor to meet you. Rose has talked the world about her parents."

Rose inwardly rolled her eyes. Overdoing it, but at least it was effective. Her father's cheeks seemed to be deflating back to its normal shape.

"Likewise, as I'm sure you are aware," remarked Hermione with a twinkle in her eye. "How do the two of you know each other?"

"I'm a fifth-year, so we're not in any of the same classes, but I play for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team and-"

"They snog an _awful_ lot," interrupted Hugo with a smug grin. Ron made a choking noise at the back of his throat and Rose shot her brother a murderous look.

"Arg—yes, well, that's not-" Carter spluttered, turning scarlet.

"What he means to say," Rose cut in firmly, pushing Hugo gently aside, "Is that we just got to talking one day and found out the two of us had a lot in common, and it just went on from there."

"As how such things usually go," replied Hermione with raised eyebrows. "What did you say your name was again?"

"Uh, Carter. Carter McLaggen."

The statement prompted the strangest of reactions from her parents. Ron jerked alive and uttered _"McLaggen_?" as if it was the most ridiculous statement he'd ever heard, which caused her mother to explode with laughter, startling even Hugo. The laughter continued for several long moments as Hermione held her stomach in vain in attempts to contain herself before it finally died down into a few short giggles. All the while, Ron was gazing at her with an ironic smile on his face.

"What on _earth_, mum?" said Rose in shock.

"It's—oh, it's nothing, darling," gasped Hermione, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. "Life just works in such peculiar ways." And that was all Rose could get from her.

As Ron, Hermione and Hugo rolled the trunks off the platform, Rose informed her parents that she was going to catch up with them later and stay behind to bade Carter farewell.

When the two of them were alone again, Rose and Carter looked at each other and simply smiled, thinking of the year they had had together.

"What do you suppose that was all about?" inquired Rose, referring to her mother's outburst earlier.

"Maybe your mum and my dad got it on back in the day," teased Carter with a grin and pulling her close. Rose made a 'puh' sound and twined her arms around his neck. "She would never. The two of us aren't _that_ similar." She met her lips with his and they continued to snog, perfectly content in their own little universe, until Hugo came running along and exasperatedly hollered at Rose to stop going at it otherwise she could find her own way back home.

AAA.

Rose nudged Carter's head off her shoulder and placed her feet firmly on the ground. Carter backed a step, watching Rose with wary eyes.

"They counted, Carter," said Rose slowly, feeling new resolve well up inside her. "Of course they counted, but that doesn't mean that all the bad times never happened. Don't act like you're the victim and I'm the cold emotionless girlfriend. How many times did I ask you to be a little more patient and a little more understanding when I failed you? You had your issues, Carter, but at least _I _stuck by you—for as long as I could."

The mood had shifted now, definitely. The morose expression on Carter's face flared to life with a look of incensed confusion. "You're giving up on us now."

" '_Giving up_'?" repeated Rose with a spurt of indignant anger. "I didn't give up, _you_ did—the moment you decided that it was okay to use Easy Ellie to spite me. To think," she laughed bitterly, "To think you even had the rightto be jealous once. All those ridiculous, paranoid outbursts, even if it was just a bloke who _looked_ at me, and you're the one that ended up kissing other girls."

"It didn't mean—I just wanted you to care about me, Rose!" shouted Carter, slamming his fist in frustration against the blackboard and causing it tremble violently. The sudden act caused a chill to run down Rose's spine. "I just wanted you to be warm and sensitive whenever I came to you with a problem, not tell me to 'suck it up' like some heartless _bitch_." He faced the wall, and his voice broke down slightly. "I never felt like I was a part of your life either. Apart from all the snogging and the niceties, you never let me in, never let me see for once what was truly bothering you."

_That's because there were so many things you never understood. You would think an obsession for muggles was something to laugh about. You would think it was okay to love or hate someone based on a War we never fought for. _

"I tried," Rose murmured dully.

"No," refuted Carter with a stubborn shake of his head. "It was always someone else—Al, Drew, Rowan, even _Malfoy_."

AAA.

_Malfoy. That's how the bad times had started_.

"Hey, look. It's Malfoy."

It was a beautiful autumn day. Red and golden leaves were scattered all over the grounds and a couple of them—like stray ducklings—had blown into the lake and were now gliding peacefully over its calm and glassy waters.

They were having another one of their afternoon strolls, holding hands and chatting animatedly over how fortunate it was that they had similar enough time-tables so that they could afford these moments together. Rose was so distracted that she barely registered it when Scorpius strode into view, the back of white-blond head looking perfectly neat as always. It was only after Carter had mentioned that he was there that she glanced over briefly in that direction.

"Oh. So it is." The tight expression on Scorpius' face made it seem like he was in a hurry. But it didn't matter because Rose couldn't care less.

"Death-eater scum," stated Carter with a dry smile. Rose stopped cold and stared at her boyfriend with widened eyes. He had said it so casually that even though she'd halted he continued ambling leisurely in the same direction, and it was only when her hand dropped limply from his that he realized that he had said something wrong.

He swiveled around and looked at her perplexedly. "What's the matter, love?"

"Do—do you always call him that?" said Rose in shock.

"Well, sometimes I just think it." He frowned. "What?"

"You-" A hot flush had crept up Rose's neck. She wasn't quite sure where she was going with this, only that it occurred to her that for some reason she was now feeling beyond furious on the behalf of someone she didn't even like. "That's_ awful_, Carter."

Carter's eyebrows disappeared above his hairline. "Excuse me?"

"That was horrible and prejudiced and—and it was everything that I thought you were above," said Rose quietly.

"What on earth have you done with Rose Weasley? I thought she hated Scorpius Malfoy."

"I don't _hate_ him," burst out Rose angrily, her eyes flaring, "I dislike him, yes, but there's a difference between not liking someone and thinking that they're less than the dirt beneath your shoes."

Carter folded his arms and stared Rose down resolutely. "His family was instrumental to the rise of the most destructive Dark Wizards of all time."

"Two generations ago."

"One of them almost killed Albus Dumbledore."

"His _father_, Carter. Not him. And, for Merlin's sake, he didn't even succeed."

"It's the thought that counts, Rose," snapped Carter, his fists clenched. "They're evil-not just the Malfoys, but the whole lot of them. They tortured and killed hundreds of innocent witches and wizards and tried to start a muggle genocide. It was the worst period of our civilization. Who knows when something like that will happen again? In my opinion, the Ministry should have executed all the Death Eaters after Voldemort fell."

Rose couldn't believe her ears. She wanted to shake him for head to toe. "Do you hear the words coming out of your own mouth? How could you allow yourself to be blindsided by such prejudiced _bullshit_?"

"You've got your views and I've got mine, alright?" replied Carter in a dangerously low tone. "What, do you fancy him or something?"

Rose let out a loud hoot of laughter and shot Carter a scathing expression. Up until this point, she had thought his jealous episodes were endearing, but not now. Now all she wanted to do was sock him in the face. "Right, yeah, I fancy Malfoy. You're completely missing the bloody point, aren't you?"

"Which is what, exactly?"

"If you fancy me as much as you hate Malfoy, then the only reason the two of us are together is because my mother and father helped bring Voldemort to his downfall."

"Don't be daft, Rose. Of course that's not the reason why we're together."

"So _what_ makes you think the actions of Malfoy's family are the reasons to hate him?" Rose demanded with a persistent glare. "I'm not defined by my family and neither is he. What they did in the war—our parents-have been the banes of our existence, hanging over us, swallowing us almost completely. My parents could have easily been on the other side but it was Malfoy who got the short end of the stick, so bloody hell I can damn well imagine what it's like." She gritted her teeth. "Don't ever say something like that again, Carter. I mean it."

She waited for him to say it. _I'm sorry, Rose_. She thought that if he could see how much his words had upset her, how much his reconciliation on this aspect would mean to her, he would concede and apologize.

But Carter simply stood his ground and watched her with a sad, frustrated glint in his eye that she had never seen before.

"I don't understand you." And with that he turned on his heel and left her there, among the dead, washed-out leaves.

AAA.

There was no point continuing the discussion. Rose's tense muscles relaxed, and she said calmly:

"We tried, and we didn't make it. It's that simple."

Carter said nothing.

She took his silence to mean assent, and recognized it as her cue to leave. Sighing, she headed quietly towards the door. Right before she walked out, she turned and said sadly, "I really did care about you, you know."

His face was an impassive stone. Sighing, she faced outwards and stepped out into the corridor. Out of the blue, his hand snaked out and clenched her arm.

"Stop." His voice was hard. "I won't let you leave like that."

"Ow, you're hurting me," Rose protested, wincing slightly as his fingers tightened. "Carter, I'm going to be late for my O.W.L. Just let me go." Her breath hitched on the last note, and she realized that she was—for the first time—a little frightened.

"No!" shouted Carter abruptly in frustrated tones, yanking her back inside and slamming the door behind her. "Bloody hell, you can't _do_ this to me! You're not leaving until we've resolved this!"

"There's nothing to resolve," cried Rose, trying to wrench her arm away but failing miserably. "Why are you making this so difficult?" She stopped to catch her breath, and looked him in the eye firmly. "You're being ridiculous."

That struck a chord. With his hand still clamped around her arm, he pushed her up against the wall, slammed her hand against the concrete, and then mashed his lips against hers with a fervor that was full of angry, frightening heat. She wriggled underneath him, her mind whirling, trying to use her one free arm to shove him off. "Carter, _stop_," she said, her voice muffled. She had never seen him like this, so wild and uncontrolled.

The most bizarre thing happened. She felt him jerk back as though his body had been suctioned in the opposite direction. The weight on her instantly vanished and she gasped in an effort to collect her breath, recovering just in time to see the familiar profile of a wiry blond-haired boy pull his fist back and knock the living daylights out of Carter McLaggen.

AAA.

Scorpius had never liked Carter.

Hogwarts was his peace, a haven away from the scornful world that awaited him outside King's Cross, but even havens had their flaws here and there. Those flaws came in the shape of '_Death-Haters_', a loose nickname for children that came from extremist Anti-Voldemort families. From a young age, they were fed stories containing exaggerated atrocities of the War. As a result, many of them grew up resentful and misguided towards any descendant of a Death-Eater line, a ploy their families used to carry on their own disgruntled feelings about how the Ministry should have handled Voldemort's loyal followers.

They hated without purpose, without reason, without even a specific method in mind.

Carter was no kind exception. They had known each other at Wizarding primary school, where the two had engaged in multiple fistfights despite being in different years. It got to the point where Scorpius' disappointed parents were forced to withdraw him from school because it had proved impossible for Scorpius to endure one day of class without getting into trouble with Carter and his cronies.

When Scorpius enrolled at Hogwarts, things became slightly less out of control. Carter seemed to have realized that his actions held more gravity, and therefore refrained himself from speaking to Scorpius entirely. But even then, he never hesitated to throw Scorpius a dark look whenever he came in close proximity, even if Scorpius was simply passing him in the hallway. On the Quidditch pitch, it was worse. As a Hufflepuff Beater, Carter could express himself in a way that he was limited in words, aiming Bludgers with purposeful malcontent towards Scorpius every few minutes.

Scorpius didn't want to admit he had stooped to Carter's level, but he found himself hating the boy back. It was hard not to.

So when he entered that empty Transfiguration classroom that day and witnessed the spectacle of Carter pinning Rose to the wall, he felt obliged—and _happy_—to yank that bastard off Weasley and sock him smack-dab in the face.

It was only a few seconds later, after he began feeling a ringing pain in his knuckles and Carter uttered a loud groan from his fetal position on the ground, did he realize the gravity of what he had done.

"Shit."

Rose Weasley was frozen to the wall, her hands held up in front of her, staring at Scorpius with her jaw hanging.

Carter uttered another painful groan and, still clutching his face, he got to his feet. "You—you _wanker_."

The shock Scorpius felt for what he had done vanished. He watched Carter sway pathetically and folded his arms with a calm look on his face. "Bugger the hell off, McLaggen. You're done here." He heard his own voice in his ears, icy and unwavering.

For a moment it seemed as if Carter was going to reach for his wand, but he simply straightened. He turned towards Rose with an expression that was a mixture of shame and defeat She stared back, her face unreadable.

"You're right. We're done," Carter stated quietly, and with that he treaded with heavy feet out the door, his head dipped.

They were alone. Scorpius finally dared himself to look at Rose, who was still breathing quite heavily against the wall. She had straightened herself as well, but her hands were clenched into shaking fists by her side. Her face looked as pale as a sheet.

"We, uh, should probably head down to our O.W.L-" Scorpius began, taking a step towards her. Her brown eyes fixed on his abruptly for a brief second, causing him to stop in his tracks, and then she slid past him without a word and disappeared out of his sight.

AAA.

The Potions examination room was already filled to the brink with people. There was a loud commotion of papers shuffling and vials clattering as students hastened to file away their last-minute revision notes and set up their cauldrons in their individual stations. Nervous whispers and giggles clouded the air.

Surveying it all was Astrakhan, eyeing his students with beady and eyes and standing at the front of the room with his hands clasped in front of him. Next to him were about six or seven O.W.L examiners, dressed in their customary robes of red and black and donning unnescessarily extravagant hats embossed with the Ministry insignia. They occupied themselves by consulting their clipboards, their heads darting up ever once in a while as if to check if everything was still operating as it should be.

These were the observations Scorpius made as he entered the room in a daze. He weaved his way through the seats, searching for that familiar hue of sunset-colored hair. He didn't know why it was so damn important to find Weasley, but her mute response to his actions made him feel confused and unsettled. To his frustration, she was nowhere to be seen.

"Scorpius," piped up a familiar voice next to him, and he felt Chantal's slender hand slip into his own. "I saved you a seat, my dear." He let her lead him towards her station, all the while flipping through the faces that passed him for the one he was looking for.

"...tried looking for you this morning, but Albus told me you had already gone to breakfast. You really should inform me on these sorts of things…"

"Did Weasley come in?" he interrupted her, his eyes flickering down to her face for the first time. She looked fresh and pretty as always, her hair done up in an elegant bun. There was an emerald butterfly clip attached the side of her head—was that new, or had she always had it?  
>"I—no, I have not seen her," replied Chantal with a frown, slightly taken aback.<br>"Fantastic," muttered Scorpius in exasperation, "Bloody fantas-" he cut himself off when out of the corner of his eye, he registered the familiar mane of red hair and a petite figure entering the premises. She was carrying a carton of Potions materials in one hand, and had purposely covered her face with the other so that no one could see it. It was Weasley, all right. Scorpius watched as she headed towards the station almost completely across the room. On the way there, she collided with Rowan Thomas, causing the brown-skinned boy to stop in his tracks. Evidently, he had seen something that bothered him because he stretched out a hand and took her shoulder, his face morphing into a solemn frown. Weasley shook her head and slid his hand off her shoulder, resuming her path.

Scorpius took it as his cue to make a move.

"Sorry, love. I'll see you after the exam," he said briefly, dropping Chantal's hand. He heard her call out indignantly after him, but he was already too far away to respond. He made his way through the seats and slid into the seat behind Rose, pausing to declare to the Ravenclaw who had confusedly stopped in his tracks behind him: "Seat's mine."

Rose swiveled around at the sound of his voice. "Malfoy, leave me alone." Her eyes flashed in anger.

"What happened up there?" Scorpius insisted quietly.

"You know what happened. You marched in and punched my boyfriend."

Scorpius chuckled sardonically. "Ex-boyfriend, don't you mean?"

Rose's lips tightened into a thin line. "It's none of your bloody business."

"You know," countered Scorpius with a flare of irritation, "I would have expected a thank you, at least-"

There was a sharp, amplified clap produced by one of the O.W.L examiners, demanding the students to settle down. Scorpius let out a puff of frustrated air as he was interrupted yet _again_, but decided that he would continue on after their assessment was finished. He leaned back in his seat and stared holes into the back of Weasley's head as the examiners droned on about testing procedures, wondering why she still had to be a cow even though he'd actually thought he'd done something rather chivalrous for the first time in their lives.

"…and you may now begin." The last words echoed into the room, prompting a rapid rush of pages being flipped and the hiss of cauldrons being lit.

Scorpius glanced down at his paper. The assignment read: _Confunding Potions_. Easy stuff.

Halfway into the exam, he couldn't help himself. The idea of Weasley being so irritated at him with absolutely no reason burned in his mind like a hot blade. Making sure that O.W.L examiners were out of earshot, he leaned forward and whispered:

"Is it because I was right all along when I told you McLaggen was a complete prick?"

Rose's back went rigid, indicating that she had heard him, but she did not merit him a response.

"Come on, Weasley, don't be a stubborn bint," hissed Scorpius, prodding her back with a finger. "If it wasn't for me, he would have given _you_ one in the face. He's off his bleeding rocker, you know."

He heard her mutter: "Touch me again, and I'll hex you."

Scorpius rolled his eyes. Big words, small threats. Weasley would never do anything to jeopardize her academic career.

Smirking, he reached out his finger and prodded her again, this time in the small of her back so that it warranted a reflexive reaction from her spine. "If it makes you feel better, I think even a bitch like you is better off without him-"

Several things happened in quick concession. A sharp yellow jet of light hit him smack in the face and instantly, he heard a slow drone descend upon around him as if he were suddenly surrounded by a flock of bees. The sounds around him faded away, replaced by watery, muffled noises that were almost indistinguishable to the ear. _Muffliato Curse_, he realized with faint admiration, startling himself as his elbow accidentally knocked into his half-finished _Confundus Potion_, causing the entire cauldron to tip and its contents to splash all over him. He yelped as the cold liquid permeated his hair and clothes. He heard the muffled noises of seats shifting backwards as the people realized around him that an accident had occurred. Briefly, he registered Rose's open-mouth and the look of shock and regret that crossed her face before he felt his knees give way and he sank down into blackness.

AAA.

_Oh my god, please tell me I didn't kill him_. Rose knew she was being ridiculous, but Scorpius looked sickeningly drained as he lay unconscious on the floor of the examination room. She was down on her knees in a second and shook him frantically. "Malfoy. Oh shit, buggery shit. I didn't mean it. Malfoy, please wake up."

There was a crowd of students circling them now, craning their heads to get a better look at what was happening. She heard the dulcet tones of Astrakhan ordering them to return to their seats. Large, orderly footsteps marched her way.

Rose felt her stomach sink as she noted the Head Examiner's face appearing amongst the clamor, his face white with rage.

She felt something tickle her hand, and when her eyes flitted back down to Scorpius' unconscious form she saw that his fingers were moving, the tips just brushing the skin of palm.

"Oh thank Merlin's hairy arse," she said fervently, reaching out to grip his hand fully. "Malfoy, can you hear me?"

He uttered a small groan, and his eyes flickered open, startlingly blue. Rose exhaled and smiled down at him in sweet, sweet relief. He gazed at her back intently and a smile slowly spread across his face in return, the most genuine one she had ever seen on him.

"You're gorgeous," he said.

"I'm—_what_?" Rose replied in astonishment, and the hand she was gripping suddenly felt cold. "Are—are you okay, Malfoy?"

"Malfoy?" Scorpius repeated with a bemused laugh, "Who's Malfoy?"

**AAA. **

**Just as I promised, some drama for all you patient readers. This was a fun chapter for me to write, and I can't wait to fully finish the next one. If you stick around, Scorpius may start acting less of a prick and Rose, likewise, less of a bitch. I'm also going to mention that I write quite explicitly, so expect some steamy scenes and over PG-13 swearing in later chapters. It's rated M for a reason. **

**Reviews always appreciated! **

**~Missuswitch**


	10. Part Two Of That Day: A Memory Mishap

**Part Two Of That Day: Memory Mishaps**

**I have been waiting ages to write this chapter. Hope you enjoy. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I just tinker-tanker.**

**AAA. **

"The good news is that it's not permanent," stated Madam Curatis—Hogwarts' resident Healer—as she prodded a blissfully unaware Scorpius Malfoy who was propped up on one of the Hospital Wing beds.

Rose swallowed and responded weakly: "That is terrific news."

Scorpius cast her a beatific smile upon hearing her words, and she looked away quickly before he could size her up again with another affectionate gaze. He had been doing that periodically ever since he had been carted off to the Hospital Wing. It was terribly unsettling.

"It is most certainly _not_, Miss Weasley," refuted the O.W.L examiner with his graying moustache wobbling in rage.

_Oh right, him again. _Rose's spirits immediately shrunk as she registered all the authority present in the room, authority that seemed to be at the moment extremely pissed off at her. Professor Astrakhan stood next to the O.W.L examiner with his hands folded contemplatively, wearing a furrowed expression. Worst of all was the fact that even Headmaster Longbottom had been called in-an evident reminder that this incident would most likely reach the ears of her parents. Headmaster Longbottom, who Rose had long referred to as 'Uncle Neville', was shaking his head at her and looking visibly distressed.

"Would someone please enlighten me on how something like this could have happened?" he demanded, "A Confundus potion does not normally result in amnesia."

"Normally a perfectly brewed one does not, but Mr. Malfoy's was only half-finished," replied Astrakhan smoothly, "That, combined with the Muffliato Curse that Miss Weasley cast, may have accelerated the potion's properties and produced some strange after-effects." He unfolded his hands. "I believe this can be remedied easily. As Madam Curatis stated, the effects are only temporary and there is a possibility that Mr. Malfoy will regain his memory on his own…" They all glanced down at Scorpius, who was humming arbitrarily to himself, tapping his fingers jovially against one another.

Rose thought he looked like a fallen angel. His silver-blond hair reflected off the glow of the white hospital pillow and seemed to create a halo around his head. His face, normally so impassive and hidden with dark secrets, had been wiped clean and now wore an expression of absolute contentment. He suddenly realized that everyone was staring at him, and said: "Oh right, that's me."

Headmaster Longbottom quickly shot Astrakhan a perturbed look. "Please tell me you have something else in mind."

Astrakhan inclined his head with a wry smile. "Naturally, Headmaster. I have already begun brewing a Memory Restoration Potion, though I will need an extra set of hands if this antidote is to be procured quickly. I have called on Mr. Potter to help me."

"Albus?" said Headmaster Longbottom with a frown. "Yes, whatever you need."

"A _student_?" interjected the O.W.L examiner incredulously, "You've called on a _student_ to brew an advanced-level potion?"

"Mr. Potter brewed a perfect Memory Restoration Potion in his second-year, Mr. Finch-Fletchley. I assure you he's capable."

Right on cue, Al burst into the room, heaving several hefty textbooks with a sheen of sweat on his brow. "You asked for me, Professor?" He halted in his tracks and stared at Scorpius' lying form on the hospital bed. "Blimey, what happened to him?"

"Hello there. My name is Malfoy," greeted Scorpius cheerfully, reaching out his hand for Al to shake. "Really fantastic to meet you."

Al took his hand and shook it with a numb expression. "What-"

"Mr. Malfoy's brain is addled, Potter," interrupted Astrakhan, "You'll find his amnesia warrants that he can't even remember his own name, much less answer your questions. You will assist me in brewing up the antidote. You are still familiar with the Memory Restoration Potion, are you not?"

Al nodded, still looking agog. "What about my exam?"

"Null and void. A perfectly brewed Memory Restoration potion is O.W.L level, to say the least. Providing this antidote is procured correctly, we shall assume you will receive an 'Outstanding' mark for Potions."

"Well, this is—absolutely preposterous-" spluttered the examiner, at a loss of words.

"Rose," breathed Scorpius in a tone that made it sound like he was addressing a goddess. It was the first time he had addressed anyone specifically, and the room fell silent as all heads turned to him. "Could I kiss you?"

Al choked on his own spittle, turning beet red. Headmaster Longbottom's eyebrows disappeared above his hairline.

Rose thought she was about to die on the spot. "I don't think that's—ah, um-" she looked to Astrakhan desperately. "Why is he acting this way?"

Astrakhan's face twitched as though he was struggling to suppress a smile. He scrutinized Scorpius, who was still gazing at Rose like she was the sun, and said thoughtfully, "Often, patients whose minds have been seriously afflicted by magical substances can become overly emotionally attached. Usually to the first person they see or speak to. Not to worry, Miss Weasley," he added on sardonically at Rose's aghast expression, "It is most likely that when Scorpius retains all his original memories he will have no memory of what happens during his amnesiac episode."

Rose nodded.

The door burst open again, and Chantal rushed into the Hospital Wing in a flurry of silk and perfume. A rain of French dramatics accompanied her when she registered the sight of her boyfriend on the bed and, after pushing aside the Headmaster with complete disregard, she perched on the edge of Scorpius' bedside and clutched his hand to her chest.

"_Mon cherie, ca va? J'étais tellement inquiet_…" She seemed to not have noticed the bewildered expression that crossed Scropius' face as she pushed back his hair, checking the temperature of his forehead. Rose uttered a small scoff and Chantal whirled on her, eyes murderous. "_Le putain, _you did this to him! My poor Scorpius-"

"Do I know you?" Scorpius inquired in confusion. Chantal's eyes widened in shock.

"Miss Gerhardt, please calm yourself; this is _not_ the French parliament and you have an exam to return to," reprimanded Astrakhan with a roll of his eyes, and the agitated French girl slid off the bed. "Bloody teenagers. Now, Madam Curatis, what is your recommendation for Malfoy today? Should he be bed-ridden?"

Madam Curatis examined the boy for several moments, prodding several of his limbs with her wand. "There's no reason why Mr. Malfoy should not be walking around the castle. His physical functions remain intact, and perhaps looking around at the sights will jog back his memory."

"You can't just leave an amnesiac walking around with no supervision!" argued the examiner, who seemed frustrated that none of his remarks were being taking seriously. "There could be no accounting for what harm he may get himself into—a magical environment for a boy with no knowledge of magic!"

"Perhaps a student could supervise Mr. Malfoy all day," contemplated Longbottom. "They would have to draw as little attention as possible, of course. We would hate for any of this to get out to the student body."

"I would gladly-" began Chantal, reaching out for Scorpius' hand again.

"Rose," Scorpius interrupted, and he turned to Rose with clear, innocent eyes. There was that look of adoration again. "Could Rose do it?"

Chantal made a noise that sounded like a mix between a squawk and a yelp of outrage.

"Yes, that seems like an apt punishment for Miss Weasley," replied Astrakhan dryly, giving Rose a pointed look. "You heard him. Attend to his every need, and absolutely no more trouble between the two of you."

Rose felt Chantal's eyes like daggers on the back of her head. She swallowed again and looked back at Scorpius's doleful expression with a prick of guilt. This had been all her fault. "If I have to."

Longbottom checked his watch and sigh. "Well I have to be off. Thank you, Pieter, for taking matters into such quick hands." Astrakhan responded with a curt nod. Longbottom turned back and regarded Rose with a stern expression. "I am not looking forward to writing Hermione about this, but I'm afraid I have to. Given Mr. Malfoy's known history for causing trouble, I will allow a reprieve. Under any circumstances, you would be under academic suspension. Do you understand, Rose?"

"Yes, Unc—Professor, sir," Rose replied, amending herself hurriedly. Longbottom glanced at Chantal pointedly, and the Slytherin girl reluctantly parted with the Headmaster, but not before she shot Rose another glare.

When the Headmaster was out of earshot, the O.W.L examiner descended like a vulture. "No suspension? Never in my years have I ever come across such trouble-makers in an exam room! I am very sorry to inform you, Miss Weasley, but our staff does not condone the use of malfeasant magic to inhibit another student's abilities." He stopped to catch his breath, and then uttered the next words with cold finality: "You will not be receiving a Potions' O.W.L."

"I understand," replied Rose quietly, her heart dropping. To her chagrin, Scorpius reached out and stroked her hand sympathetically.

"And as for an N.E.W.T course, well, it is clear that Potions is not your alley-"

"Nonsense. You haven't taught Rose Weasley for five years, I have," cut in Astrakhan with a flinty glint in his eye. "This is not your jurisdiction, Finch-Fletchley. I am her professor, and I believe Miss Weasley would make a fine addition to my N.E.W.T course." He glanced at Rose's drained face and added, "You will take a separate exam in my room next week, after Mr. Malfoy's O.W.L make-up. No doubt you will pass with flying colors. Now," he snapped, noting that the examiner had opened his mouth to say something and was clearly not going to let him do so, "I have had enough of this Hospital Wing. Everybody out. Weasley, make sure Malfoy doesn't accidentally kill himself and return to my office at dinnertime so that he can be administered the antidote. Potter, come with me."

_Flippin' hell, _thought Rose as Astrakhan strode off into the distance with his commanding black robes flapping around him. She moved her hand away from Scorpius' reach. _At least mum never got into this much trouble. _

AAA.

"Excuse me. Excuse me." Lightly, Carpathia side-stepped the buzzing crowd of fifth-years with ease on her way to Astrakhan's classroom. All around her, they were chattering about the same subject: Malfoy passing out and whether Rose Weasley had anything to do with it. A crowd of students wanted to head over to the Hospital Wing to check out the spectacle for themselves. Carpathia knew better.

Somewhere in the middle of the crowd, she saw Chantal pushing against the tide of students, shouting angrily to herself and causing passing students to giggle at each other in alarm. "_Je n'ai jamais de ma vie été si en colère_…that _bitch_, Rose Weasley!"

Carpathia smirked, watching the girl's face contort into a silent scream, and then resumed her path.

She ventured into the dungeons, and at the end of the corridor, saw the familiar shine of straight, brown hair standing right outside Astrakhan's classroom. Isabel.

Carpathia slowed to a meander. She hadn't expected that she would have company.

Isabel swiveled around registered her presence. "Oh. Hi."

"Hi," replied Carpathia, offering her a weak smile. "Same idea?"

Isabel shrugged. "I heard about Malfoy's accident. My mates told me Astrakhan went back and practically dragged Al out of the room and I figured this was where he would take him."

"Clever," said Carpathia with a nod and for the first time since her best mate had started dating Isabel, she truly looked at the girl.

They were polar opposites. Isabel was the type to wear ribbons in her hair, whereas Carpathia strung piercings through her ears without batting an eyelash. Isabel was fresh-faced and sweet, flitting from place to place as the socialite butterfly, while Carpathia thrived in the nooks and shadows, preferring to observe rather than engage. For every ten of the words that came out of Isabel's mouth Carpathia could easily settle for one. So different, and yet…

Here they were. Both of them.

"We haven't spoken much, have we?" inquired Carpathia.

"Of course we have. You're Al's best friend," replied Isabel automatically in an abnormally high voice. Carpathia looked at the girl sideways, and she shrunk slightly. "No I suppose not. I always thought you…disliked me."

_No. Just disliked what you had and what I couldn't. _"I dislike everyone. Haven't you heard?" said Carpathia with a slight smile. Isabel stared at her a couple moments, and then uttered a small, uncertain laugh.

It was a start, at least. "I, um, brought Al some cinammon rolls. They're his favorite pastry," she said rather hesitantly, gesturing down at several lumps in her arms that were rolled up in tissue paper. "I just wasn't sure if I should barge in. Astrakhan might greet me with a pitchfork."

"He's a million years old. You can take him," responded Carpathia in a dead-pan voice. Isabel chuckled.

"What are you here for?"

"Just to-" _Talk. _But now that excuse seemed rather redundant, because why would Al want to talk to her if his girlfriend was there with his favorite pastries? Carpathia realized with a jolt that she had never really given Al's happiness a real thought, had always assumed that she was a part of it, but there was Isabel—everything he had ever wanted—and not only that, but she had bothered to get him _cinnamon rolls. _Try as Carpathia might, she could not see why Isabel was any threat to Al. She had, as always, been only a threat to Carpathia, and that was silly. Beyond silly.

It was time to move on.

"I was just leaving," she amended, shaking her head with a wry smile. "Tell Al I stopped by." Before Isabel could utter another word, she turned around and headed back in the opposite direction, as silent as the way she had come.

There was something she had been meaning to do. That morning, a note had fluttered by her window again, embossed with yet another black hand. _1:00, the glade_, it read. Carpathia had recognized the beautifully scripted cursive in an instant. But far from being ecstatic, it made her realize that there was an issue at hand that she had to finally face, and today just seemed like the day to do it.

By the time she reached the glade, she was five minutes past one, but the figure waiting for her didn't seem to mind. When he heard her footsteps approaching him among the tranquility of the forest, Devon turned and greeted her with a crooked half-smile, a dimple indenting into his left cheek.

There was something off about him. Carpathia halted in front of him and took in the tiny details in a matter of moments. Devon, normally looking so cool and unfazed, was flushed with agitation. The mismatched look in his eyes made him seem more haunted than usual, as though he had just encountered something deeply disturbing.

Or just that he was really fucking high at the moment.

"Glad you came, Pegs," he said softly.

For the first time, the name pricked at her like an irritable needle. "You know what I always wondered? Why is our symbol a black hand?" answered Carpathia coolly.

Devon cocked his head to the side and regarded amusedly. "To reiterate how much we love death and worship the devil, obviously." He chuckled to himself, "No, but in all honestly, we were looking for an icon to unify us, and that day Adara just happened to get her hand absolutely smothered in lighter dust and the image just sort of stuck." He stopped chuckling when he saw her angry expression. "Why? What did you think?"

"I reckon the black hand was rather poetic," replied Carpathia calmly, "It did a good job of describing how a person could go about wrapping people easily around his fingers, and then—when they least expect it—smother them with his poison."

Devon's eyes flashed with wariness but he remained unperturbed. "That's kind of dark, Pegs."

"Stop calling me that," snapped Carpathia, and her reaction prompted him to raise his eyebrows in surprise. She folded her arms to stop him from noticing her shagkin hands. "You told Adara. After knowing how afraid I was that someone would find out, after promising that I was the only one…you told her."

Devon finally fell silent for several moments, unable to conjure a clever comment. He looked at her furious face and then sighed, his body going slack with guilt. "It was stupid of me. I know. She was-"

"Sticking her tongue down your throat, I remember, and then you forgot about me," Carpathia retorted. She stood back and surveyed the boy she had idolized for so long and recalling Erin's words: _I don't look at him the same way anymore. _"I think it's time to stop, Devon. Whatever this is."

Devon stiffened and stepped towards her. "She won't tell anyone. I promise."

"Your promises don't mean anything to me."

"They should. I've never meant any harm."

"Really? Are you on Pegasus, Devon? Are you on it _right now_?"

Devon was silent, but his mismatched eyes said it all.

Carpathia shook her head in disgust, and prepared herself to leave. "You can't even sober up for one second to talk to me."

"I don't want to stop, Carpathia," said Devon slowly, and he unraveled before her, his dark green eyes suddenly imploring. She felt herself hesitate.

"Why?" she asked almost inaudibly, unable to suppress herself.

Devon exhaled, and the next words that were uttered fell on her like soft, spring rain: "I love you."

AAA.

"I just discovered that my thumb is double-jointed. Did you know that? I certainly didn't know that," said Scorpius in delight, waving his hand across Rose's face.

"Hooray," dead-panned Rose without looking up from her sandwich. She noticed there was a fly circling her apple, and flicked her hand over it. It buzzed into a lap around their picnic set-up before flitting off over the lake.

"Rose." Rose felt a chill down her spine yet again as she registered her given name spilling out of Scorpius' mouth in that tender way. "I'm really enjoying this. Having lunch out here with you."

She turned and saw Scorpius' earnest face staring down at her, his smile ever so warm. "Don't get any ideas," she grumbled, "I've been charged with the sworn duty of keeping a low profile, and throwing you to the sharks at the Banquet Hall is hardly a way to go about that."

As if that really was necessary. The whole school was already bustling with the news, and it had prompted several girls (including Jenna Gilbert) to throw some very nasty comments down Rose's way.

"Maybe we could go behind the trees," suggested Scorpius. Rose threw him a murderous look, and he amended himself quickly with a serious expression, "In a completely professional, sworn-duty-esque way of course. I would never push you up against a tree and…" he paused, and gazed at her with a grin, "And watch you lick your lips and tell me how unbearably handsome I am and…"

"Malfoy!" exclaimed Rose in exasperation, throwing down her sandwich when she was hit by a wave of unappetizing images. "God, you drive me crazy."

"Yes, that's exactly what you'll say," said Scorpius dreamily.

"Stop it. Just stop," snapped Rose, facing him with a stern expression. "Don't you know how uncomfortable that is? Why do you do that?"

"Because I'm attracted to you," answered Scorpius in a puzzled tone, as if that was the most obvious statement in the world.

_No, it's because of magic. _"Well, for whatever reason, it's cruel. You've got a girlfriend, you know. Or whatever counts as a girlfriend for you," Rose added scornfully, "But of course, you don't remember that so here you are flirting with me and she doesn't exist for you and it's not fair to her. And at the end of this dreadful day you'll finally get your old memories back, but you won't remember a single thing that's happened so that's not exactly fair to _me_ either. So do everyone a favor and please keep your thoughts to yourself. This isn't who you really are, Malfoy."

Scorpius' eyes drew together in genuine concern. Then, he replied in a quiet, guilty tone: "I'm sorry. I won't say anything stupid anymore."

His contrite response startled her. She remembered suddenly that she was dealing with basically what constituted as a giant infant who had no recollection of who he was, and that as bizarre as this was for her, it didn't change the fact that he was probably much more frightened. She sighed. "It's alright, Malfoy. Just don't hit on me anymore."

Scorpius was silent for several seconds. Then he said, "So who am I, then?"

"Sorry?"

Scorpius cleared his throat and reached for an apple, tossing it between his hands. "Just then. You said '_This isn't who you really are_'." He exaggeratedly mimicked her voice as a shrill falsetto, and she couldn't help but smile. "Right. So who am I? Tell me about me."

Rose took another apple from the picnic basket. "We're not really friends. I wouldn't be able to say much."

"I don't believe that," answered Scorpius baldly, "I highly doubt anybody would just go up to a stranger and say: '_Good day, sir. Fine weather we're having. Don't mind me; I'm just going to extract all your memories._"

"Another spot-on impression."

"Couldn't I just ask you a series of questions? If you answer them all, I'll let you have the last chocolate muffin," Scorpius persisted slyly, waving the muffin basket enticingly under her nose.

Rose caught sight of her favorite breakfast item, nestling between two banana bread muffins in all its brown, melting glory, and caved. "Fine," she conceded with a slight smile. "Twenty questions, Malfoy."

"No one-worded answers."

"Agreed."

"Good," said Scorpius with a satisfied smile, leaning back and biting into his apple. "Why do you call me Malfoy instead of Scorpius?"

_That's easy. _"Because we're not friends and you're a prick."

Scorpius frowned, looking slightly hurt. "Why am I prick?"

Rose had to think about this for several seconds. "You're arrogant. You're stubborn, even when you're wrong. You think girls are disposable objects. You're in love with your hair. You treat the people you dislike like-" she paused, "Like they're not even people. And you think you're justified because the world owes you something for being born into family that isn't very well liked, either."

Scorpius took in this with a slightly alarmed expression. He exhaled. "What do you mean, my family isn't very well liked?"

Rose waved her hand dismissively. "It's old history," she said tiredly, "Our parents fought on opposite ends of a War. My parents won, yours lost. Nobody likes a losing side."

Silence. "Do I get along with my parents?"

"I—I don't know," admitted Rose quietly, "You never did seem very happy."

Scorpius looked sufficiently uncomfortable. He bit into his apple and chewed on it for several seconds. "What was the worst thing I ever did to someone?"

Rose exhaled and steepled her fingers. "My cousin, Al. He's making your antidote right this moment, ironically. The first year you were here you tortured him so much he thought about sending a letter to his father asking if he could come home." Rose spared no details; she looked at Scorpius sternly and squarely in the eye when she told him and let him cringe over the facts.

Scorpius' face twisted into a grimace. "Blimey, I didn't know. That bloke with the red hair…are we friends now?"

Rose snorted. "As if."

Scorpius let out a puff of exasperated air and muttered darkly to himself, looking quite sick to the stomach. "What was the nicest thing I ever did for someone? Please tell me I've done something nice. Maybe I helped an old lady across the street. Nursed a couple of kittens. Took up knitting?"

Rose chuckled. "No, you weren't all bad," she hummed softly, taking a strand of hair that had blown into her face and curling it around her finger. She watched his blue eyes lower down to the picnic blanket despondently and some part of her felt pity for him. "There was a girl who was in some trouble with her boyfriend. They had been going out for a while, but one day she decided to tell him she wanted to break it off and he took it badly." her voice trailed off. His eyes were on her now. "Before he could do something awful, you jumped in."

"What did I do?"

"You broke his nose. Killer punch. Or so I've heard," she added in, feeling a slight pang in her chest when she reminded herself of Carter's heartbroken expression when he'd left the room, and how every part of her had wanted to run after him but she had held herself back. Merlin's beard, had it really only been this morning?

The day had already taken such a bizarre turn. Scorpius was now smiling back at her again, his spirits restored. "So there are good things about me?"

"Yes," replied Rose gently, and she put her hand briefly on his arm for a short second before withdrawing it. "You're one of Hogwarts' top students. You've got a great deal of pride, but it's because you were hurt so much in the past and you were brave enough to pull through it. You're a badass. People fear you-and respect you. When you're not a wanker, you're actually quite charming." She added as an after-thought, "You've got quite a lot of girls chasing your tail as well."

Scorpius raised his eyebrows. "How many girls?"

_Okay. Time to stop stroking his ego. _"Not entirely sure," shrugged Rose in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner. "It is a subject of much speculation."

"Ah." Scorpius sat still for several moments, allowing the sun to peep out of the clouds above and light his hair on a silver fire. "Rose," he finally inquired, and a wicked grin spread across his face. "Am I a virgin?"

Rose choked, her face turning scarlet. "I am _not_ answering that."

"You have to," he quipped tauntingly.

"I don't know," she retorted agitatedly. His blue eyes kept twinkling at her. "Fine, if I had to guess, you're not."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because—because you've got quite a reputation, and you're not bad-looking. Girls are attracted to that. Some girls," she adjusted quickly.

The grin spread even wider. He drew close to her, and she felt his breath on her cheek. "Are _you_ attracted to me?"

Rose pushed him away, feeling heat rise up over neck and ears like it was suddenly the middle of summer. What was the _matter_ with her? "No. Sod off."

"Did you ever want to go out with me?"

"I would have rather sawed off my ears. Twice."

Scorpius scoffed, and scooted close to her. "Come on. Even though I'm clever and brave and charming?"

"And arrogant, you forgot arrogant," reminded Rose. "You also have four more questions left."

Scorpius backed away, finally. The tight knot of tension in Rose's chest loosened immediately, and she felt the heat in her neck and ears abate. "Am I in love with my girlfriend?"

The thought of that was strangely wounding. Perhaps it was because Scorpius had been reiterating all day how much he couldn't stand to be away from Rose. Or perhaps it was because Chantal just wasn't a very kind person, and Scorpius at this moment seemed so vulnerable.

"No," said Rose firmly, and she meant it. "You're not."

"And," Scorpius paused, looking slightly more abashed, "Before—before I lost my memories, was I ever in love with you?"

"No," said Rose. He stared at with an unconvinced expression, but she pressed on fiercely. "Malfoy, it comes as a surprise to you, but we were terrible to each other. We sabotaged each other for higher marks. We called each other hideous names, and our families even worse. Up until today, you had always referred to me as 'Weasley.'"

That, it seemed, disturbed him more than anything. "Do you hate me?"

_Did she? _There was a time she would have said 'yes', but it would have been a childish and meaningless. She had seen real hate uttered from Carter's mouth, and that was not what she felt for Malfoy, the boy who possessed a flamboyant and egotistical fortitude that she couldn't help but admire, the boy who may have tormented her but had once stopped to give her a rose. "I never have," she answered quietly, her lips curving upwards. "And I never will."

His face broke into a content smile and he reached almost instinctively for her hand. She withdrew it with a knowing expression. "You've got one more question."

Unfazed, he reached for the muffin basket and handed it to her. "Take your prize. I'll save it for later." He surveyed their surroundings with a familiar, unruly grin. "Enough talking. Lets do something fun."

AAA.

Nobody had ever told Carpathia they loved her.

Carpathia had grown up in a traditional pureblood family, where love was shown through obedience and loyalty, and physical intimacy was distasteful. As a child she had never been obedient to her parents, and as a result, they felt she did not deserve what she yearned so earnestly from them. Though she was sixteen minutes older and in such families it was typical for the eldest child to be favored, Gareth was selected as the lucky one.

She was certain Gareth loved her. Gareth was a difficult boy to crack and he had not approved of her differences in the beginning—particularly after she had been sorted into Gryffindor—but they had shared the same womb and she could sense with every fiber of herself that he did. He just couldn't say it.

When it came to Al, Carpathia waited. After all the nights she had whispered into her pillow that she loved him, she hoped he would open his eyes for one moment and tell her, right there, wherever they were. But this was a childish love, and in the end, she packed it away and realized that if there was love, it wouldn't come from him.

"I love you," said Devon.

Carpathia felt the words hit her like someone had knocked the breath out of her lungs. She forgot about leaving, about anything, really.

"What?" she gasped.

"I love you," repeated Devon, his face twisting into a ludicrous smile. "I don't know when it happened. I just realized it that day, I think, when the two of us were popping Pegasus pills and you just—you looked so damn beautiful and free and everything I wanted to be."

He started to walk towards her, his hand outstretched cautiously as if he didn't want to scare her off. "You're not like other people. _Truly_. But you're so much like me. We both had parents who were a bit mental and couldn't really love us. We both always felt like outcasts, but the best part is that we both never tried to fit in. _Albus Potter_." He uttered the name with a little scoff, "He'll never see you the way I do. You're his friend, his protector, his shadow. But I'm also in the shadows, and that's where you belong." He was at her doorstep now; his face was cupping her hand and she felt herself being swallowed up by him and not wanting to pull away. "You always told me," he whispered into her ear. "You would never be molded by anyone else. But he's always molded you. He's kept you by his side even though he never loved you, and now it's time you made your own decisions." He kissed her neck, and her breath hitched. His lips trailed up to his jaw, and then he was kissing her eyelids. "I love you. Stay with me. No one else will be able to."

She was already his. When his lips roamed back to her mouth, her lips had risen up to meet it. "I love you too," she murmured into him, finally, finally able to say it.

AAA.

"_Portrudo_!"

A sizable rock hurtled through the air and landed into the lake with a loud splash. Rose burst into laughter as Scorpius turned to regard her with a look of shell-shocked disbelief. "I did it!" He was clutching his wand with two arms in front of him like it was a sword.

"Yes! Congratulations, you have now mastered first-year charms," proclaimed Rose with a whimsical bow. "And now, we will be able to severely aggravate our dear deep-sea friend." She pulled out her wand and cried, "_Ascendio!" _A pile of pebbles rose up simulatenously into the air and vibrated ferociously. "_Portrudo_!" They hurled like bullets into the water and peppered the lake's surface.

There was a long disappointing silence.

"Bugger it," stated Rose with a sigh. Scorpius was regarding her with a look of admiration. "What?"

"You look brilliant when you're doing magic," he said fervently.

Rose brushed it off dismissively. "It would have been even more brilliant if we'd woken up the Giant Squid, but that thing hasn't been seen on the surface for_ years_. My mate Rowan and I have been trying for ages." She added as an after-thought. "It's so ancient it's probably dead by now."

She stalked up the pebbly beach, expecting Scorpius to follow her, but then realized that he was still standing in his original spot gazing over the water. "Oi, Malfoy. Come on."

He rotated to the sound of her voice and his eyes met hers with a flicker of mischief. "Lets go swimming." Right on the spot, he began to unbutton his jeans.

"Malfoy! Are you mental? I-I don't even know if you can swim," protested Rose in alarm, treading quickly over to him and trying to pull him away from the edge of the water. "On second thought's, _you _don't even know if you can swim."

"I can swim," replied Scorpius with a roll of his eyes.

"Right. And how is it you're so sure of yourself, Mr. Amnesiac?" demanded Rose with folded arms.

Scorpius shrugged. "I'm a man. I feel it in my testosterone." As if to emphasize that statement, he unzipped his jeans and pulled down his pants in one swift motion. Rose felt her jaw drop and her cheeks roast up again. Did he have no shame? Those dusky grey boxers literally _clung_ to those lean, athletic thighs—_God, why am I looking?_ She ducked her eyes away.

"Why thank you for the head's up," she said sarcastically, turning her back to him and hearing his silent cackle along with the shuffling of more clothes being stripped off. "Look, is this all that sensible? I did just mention a Giant Squid."

"That you think is dead."

"_Probably _dead," corrected Rose.

"With no evidence that it exists."

"We've heard a couple moans here and there."

"Completely valid proof, of course." She heard his sarcasm.

Rose sighed. "I'm really not supposed to get you into anymore trouble. I'm in a ton as it is."

"I don't think you were supposed to let me practice with magic either but there you have it," she heard him smirk. "What was it that bloke at the hospital said? '_Attend to his every need_.' Be a dear, and strip down, will you?" She heard a splash as he dove into the lake, and whirled around to see Scorpius leaping from the pristine waters from the waist-up with a loud yelp.

"Bloody hell, it's freezing!" _Now he's beginning to sound like his old self. _She had to admit; there was something explicitly attractive about a water-logged Scorpius. His blond strands darkened with the water and framed his refined features perfectly—allowing the arched Roman nose and high cheekbones to become strikingly clear. She had always thought he was pale to the point of sickliness, but realized that the reflection of the water cast him a sunlit glow, and the complexion as a result was quite beautiful. His chest and stomach were lean and wiry, not too skinny as she'd always imagined, and the muscles in his arms were clearly defined.

_Just the water_, she thought with a zealous shake of her head. For God's sake, she had to get a grip.

"Are you coming in, Rose?" he yelled, and then he whooped and paddled out into the lake with short, swift strokes. "Turns out I can bloody swim!"

_Oh bugger it. He won't remember this anyway._ "Yes, you idiot!" she yelled back, and promptly unbuttoned her flower-patterned blouse, throwing it on the beach. She wasn't wearing her best bra, but it was one she liked: a deep navy purple. The black trousers she was wearing came off soon after, and she cringed slightly at the black cotton underwear with the words '_Kiss me'_ in red printed on the back. They had been a gift from Amanda Longbottom, but hey, she wasn't trying to impress anybody.

She dove slightly more clumsily into the lake, and screamed initially at contact, feeling the water pierce her like cold knives. When she broke the surface she gasped, and her arms flailed about as she made her way to the sound of Scorpius' splashing.

She heard him break into laughter. One of his hands gingerly gripped her elbow underwater, and when the water finally cleared away from her eyes, she saw his grinning face right in front her and started laughing as well.

"It's f-fucking cold," she said while shivering, dissolving into another fit of giggles.

"Not from where I'm looking," he replied, his eyes fixating on her chest with a gawky look on his face. She glared and splashed a wave of water his way, prompting him to duck with a smile. "Alright, alright. I took a mental snapshot anyway."

They continued that way for at least ten more minutes, chatting about ridiculous things and splashing one another, until the cold had numbed their bones and they were no longer shivering. Then, Malfoy brought up a fairly interesting conversation topic about what life would be like if everyone woke up each morning and simply had no memories of one another.

"Personally, I think it would be a relief," he said, treading water on the spot. "Everyone could start over. They'd never have any baggage on them, they could be whoever they wanted, and there would never be any hate, prejudice, or wars either. Nobody would remember why someone could be worth disliking."

"But it would be so tragic too," refuted Rose thoughtfully, "Mothers, fathers, husbands, and wives—they would all suddenly be unrecognizable. All those relationships would be lost."

Scorpius shrugged, paddling towards her. "They wouldn't know that."

"And we'd just be wandering around all the time, no stability, no sense of future, no way of loving a person." Rose grinned. "Loneliness kills, you know. The human race would eventually die out."

"You're terribly morbid," observed Scorpius with a placating smile. "Marry me, will you?"

Rose coughed in an attempt to disguise her blushing cheeks. Then, she felt his foot slide up her leg and stiffened.

"Malfoy, I told you to stop," she stated irritably, and the cheerful mood dissipated.

Scorpius frowned in confusion. "Stop what?"

"Playing footsie," she snapped.

"I'm not touching you!"

"Right, then what-" Rose cut herself off, and the two of them stared at each other with widened, panicked eyes as the revelation hit them. They erupted into shouts simultaneously.

"_Fuck!"_

"Giant squid!"

At their dulcet tones, the slippery thing touching Rose's leg withdrew itself, but fear tugged at her heartstrings and she leaped at Malfoy without thinking.

"Where is it?" Rose shrieked frantically, clutching at him.

Scorpius was gazing at her with a goofy smile, his eyes darting up and down. "I know where my-"

"Oh, for heaven's sake Malfoy, swim!"

The two of them beat such ferocious strokes back to the shore that when they fumbled out of the water they flopped onto the stony beach, chests heaving in exhaustion. Water dripped down from their skin in rivulets. _It exists, _the thought raced through Rose's mind in satisfaction, despite the fact that heart was still pounding. _At least I proved it exists. _

After several longer seconds of silence, Scorpius finally said: "Nice underwear."

Rose threw a pebble his way but couldn't help herself from uttering a bark of laughter.

AAA.

The cauldron was hissing nicely now, almost on its final stages of completion. Al could smell the whiff of earthy leaves and something faintly tangy. He peered into the cauldron and noted the familiar olive color, recalling seeing the same sight on his potion's assessment in his second-year.

"Perfectly brewed," stated Astrakhan with satisfaction, taking his glasses off momentarily to join Al by looking into cauldron. "Splendid, Potter. Now just polish it off by adding a sprinkle of minced frog liver." He cocked his head to the side and smiled. "I do believe our Infant Troll record has just finished. Time to put on a new one." He hummed to himself and went to his cabinet, his fingers dancing over the spines of hundreds of records on the shelf.

It had been a new discovery for Al that his Potions Master was an avid lover of pop music, especially ones that had been issued out in the 80's. In the last three hours that he had been stuck in this room with Astrakhan, the old soviet veteran hadn't failed to recite every lyric of every record that it came warbling out of his crackling record player.

The new record was another Celestina Warbeck. Al groaned inwardly, but chose to suppress his objections and instead searched for the frog liver supposedly on the desk.

He picked up a bluish, soft-looking object. "Is this it, professor?"

"Potter, there's no need for such formalities," dismissed Asrakhan gruffly, looking abnormally merry as the music commenced with a saxophone solo. "You are not a student in this classroom, you are my Potions' assistant. Call me Pieter."

"Er, right. Pieter. I don't know if this is frog's liver I'm holding."

"Merlin's arse, of course not. Don't you know a frog's liver when you see one? Those are kidney stones from an anaconda. They're used for immediate bleeding relief. Stick one into someone, and if they're suffering from a severe gash, it'll close up immediately. _Very _handy for Quidditch players."

Al regarded the object with interest, and then he quickly placed it on the desk before Astrakhan could notice.

He was a second too late. The professor caught him looking, and grinned knowingly. "You are enjoying this, aren't you, boy?"

"No," replied Al hurriedly, turning back to his station and picking up a black-looking stone that seemed to be the right ingredient.

"Well, don't worry," said Astrakhan, returning to his usually sharp demeanor, "After the potion is finished brewing, we still have to decanter it and leave it for two hours at a consistent temperature. The work is hardly finished."

Al sighed and resigned himself back to finishing Scorpius' bloody antidote, with Astrakhan's rendition of 'I've Got A Cauldron Full of Hot, Hot Love' resounding in the background.

AAA.

It had been several hours since their incident on the lake, enough time for their undergarments to have dried up sufficiently. As such, Rose had taken the liberty to introduce Scorpius to the Quidditch pitch. After persuading Professor Hopkirk to allow them to borrow a broomstick on the grounds that Headmaster Longbottom had wanted Scorpius to have more exposure to previous experiences, she managed to snag away an old Firebolt. It was the kind her parents had used in their day, but it would have to do.

Scorpius needed convincing, but in the end he was perched on the end of the broomstick behind her, his arms secured tightly around her waist. That part she was certain he didn't mind.

"And you're sure that I've done this a million times?" he persisted, trying to conceal the undercurrent of anxiety in his tone but Rose wasn't fooled.

"Positive. You even tried knocking me off my broom once or twice," she said breezily. And on that note, she kicked off into the air and relished the sound of his terrified yell in her ear.

After executing a couple fancy loops and ensuring that he was properly frightened out of his wits, Rose decided to give the boy a break and leveled out at a steady speed, allowing the wind to carry them smoothly across the grounds.

Scorpius was still panting, his hands gripping her waist feverishly. "You're evil."

"I know," Rose agreed cheekily. She gazed out onto the darkening night sky, and breathed with a content smile: "Now shut up and have a look at that."

The sun was a fireball, bludgeoning the sky with bloody and velvet colors and turning the trees from green to black silhouettes. At the borders of the sky the dark blue had started to ink in, allowing several stars to blink into existence.

And then the best part; the sound of the quiet settling in, birds dimming down and cicadas strumming up for their evening overture. It was Rose's favorite part of the day.

Scorpius didn't say anything, but she knew he felt the beauty in his bones too. There wasn't a single soul alive who couldn't be moved by such a sight. She felt his chin rest on her shoulder, his cheek grazing upon her cheek, but for the first time she didn't feel compelled to tell him to stop. His hair felt as soft as feathers.

She angled the broom towards the trees so that they were soaring over the tips of the Forbidden Forest, and a movement amongst the edges of the wood caught her eye. She slowed slightly and recognized the inky cropped hair and the lithe figure of Carpathia Nott, and the girl wasn't alone either. Following her in tow was the flyaway curls of Devon, holding hands and never straying more than a meter away from each other. Then, Devon pulled her close to him and their heads melted together, their faces alternately tipping upwards in the passion of their embrace.

Scorpius whistled softly. "Good for them."

Rose didn't want to tell him about the nature of Devon Lynch or Carpathia's bad habits, because at this moment it wasn't really about Devon and Carpathia. The sudden jolt of sadness overcame her like a sickness, and she realized that she would never kiss the boy she'd first loved like that again. It had been less than twelve hours ago when her two-year relationship had been terminated.

What had she been doing since then? She cursed herself inwardly. Living in a fantasy world where the boy she disliked more than anyone was somehow her best friend, swimming in the lake and riding on broomsticks like everything was fine? Her actions at the Potion's exam had gotten her into enough trouble to allow her a reprieve from reality, and the reality was that she and Carter were no longer together.

She realized suddenly that a tear was trickling down the side of her cheek, and a sniffle unwarrantedly slipped out from her mouth.

Scorpius latched onto it immediately. "Rose," he said in alarm. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," she replied shortly, angling the broomstick towards the ground of the pitch. They were on solid grass several moments later, trodding (for Scorpius, somewhat unsteadily) towards the Quidditch shed to put away the broomstick. After she had securely placed the Firebolt in its original place, Rose shut the shed and then silently headed in the direction of the castle, her legs cutting swiftly through the tall blades of grass.

She heard Scorpius' rustling footsteps from behind her, and then he took hold of her and gently twisted her arm so that she was facing him again. Her eyes automatically sunk down the ground so that he couldn't see the state of her face.

"Are you crying?" he asked, looking appalled. "Did I do something wrong?"

Rose started to laugh. He stared at her with a completely nonplussed expression until she wiped away the tears and finally forced the words through with a gasp: "It's just—it's just you don't remember, and it only happened this morning, which is really just _ridiculous_ if you think about it." Her laughter died down when she saw his darkened expression. "God, I'm sorry I'm acting this way. It's not that funny, I know. It's just been such a strange day."

She put a hand on his hand and squeezed it. "That girl, the one I was talking about," she said softly, "The one who's boyfriend you knocked out. She never got to thank you properly, you know, she just acted like an ungrateful bitch and took away all your memories." She smiled sadly. "No wonder Carter and I couldn't work."

Scorpius said nothing. His eyes were fixed on hers intently as he drunk in every word she uttered.

"The funny thing is I didn't even think about the fact that my boyfriend and I had ended our relationship until just _now_," continued Rose on this path of brute frankness, still smiling like an idiot, "Maybe because I was so preoccupied with how much trouble I was in, but I'd be lying if that was the real reason. I think I've just been so absurdly happy today, and I was happy being with _you_, which is even more absurd."

There was another thought that was niggling at her, and now that everything was finally forcing its way up, the thought was now perched at the tip of her tongue.

"It was cruel of me to say that this isn't who you really are. In fact, I think this is _more _of who you are. This is the Scorpius Malfoy that would have existed if he hadn't grown up with so many horrible memories, the Scorpius Malfoy that by nature should have…been. And I like him," she admitted, chuckling to herself. "I think he—he could understand me."

She wiped the last of her tears and then stared off into the distance, feeling significantly lighter now that she'd gotten that off her chest. It was fully dark now, with just the barest edges of sunlight disappearing behind the horizon. The stars were cold and beautiful.

She could feel Scorpius' eyes still on her and his surprisingly warm skin brushing against her own as their hands stayed joined.

He cleared his throat and said hoarsely. "I still have one more question, but I'd like to give it to you. Ask me something."

"Like what?" answered Rose.

"Ask me why I still haven't let go of your hand," he replied with a hardened tone of determination in his voice, his clear blue eyes never leaving her face. There was something about the old Scorpius that had returned, an opaqueness that smoothed over his features and made him unreadable after hours and hours of being around a Scorpius who had seemed so transparent.

Rose complied quietly. "Why haven't you…let go of my hand?"

"Because if I let go, that'll be it," he replied, exhaling sharply as though even saying it was painful. "I'll go back to that room and he'll give me the antidote and I'll be Malfoy and you'll be Weasley again. It'll be like nothing ever happened. I'll never be able to tell you how brilliant you are, even when you're a bitch, or what you do to me here," he gestured at his brain and made a spiraling motion, "And here," he gestured now at his heart, "And I'll just be wandering around without a future and waiting for loneliness to kill me," he chuckled ruefully and she smiled. "And it'll be unbearable, because I'll want to tell you so much how clever and wonderful and bloody _attractive_ you are." He took another step closer to her and pushed back her hair, tucking a strand of it behind one ear. "The worst part is, I probably won't remember anything I've said, even now."

_Scorpius. _

She wanted to say his name but the motion of her mouth opening caused his eyes to flicker urgently to life. He gazed at her and the intensity of it all prompted her to simply stare back at him speechlessly. Then, as if something in his mind had been made up, his lips curled into a sad smile and he murmured: "But I damned well won't leave all that behind without leaving you at least something to remember."

He closed the distance, placed his hand at the curve of her neck, and as he drew near, her face rose to meet him in something she had known to be inevitable the moment he had started to speak.

At first, the seconds passed by with a breathless pause as her mind whirled furiously over how absolutely _insane_ this was, to be kissing Scorpius Malfoy, but then his mouth began to move and something roared up like a flame inside her, consuming her entirely and leaving her trembling to the bone. She locked her arms around his head to steady herself and let her body do the talking because her brain certainly wasn't going to, and when they finally drew apart after several long scorching moments, his contorted and dizzy expression said it all.

Rose had never believed in fate, but she believed that moment had been the closest she ever felt to it.

Like all wonderful things, theirs ended in a mere matter of minutes. The clock had chimed six in the distance, and it was time to return back to the land of reality. They returned to the dungeons in silence, not daring to utter a word as students familiar and unfamiliar raced past them in a squeal of loud voices on their way to dinner. When they arrived, Al and Professor Astrakhan were already waiting for them.

"Well, it seems that Mr. Malfoy has remained in one piece," he observed dryly. "Congratulations, Miss Weasley. You have finished serving your time."

Rose nodded. "All yours, Professor." She darted past Scorpius without looking at him in the eye. For a moment, she thought he was going to say something, but he merely glanced at her once over his shoulder before following Astrakhan back into his office. The door closed with a final click behind them.

"Thank bloody Merlin that's over and done with," yawned Al, stretching his arms out and swiveling his neck from side to side. "If I have to look at another lace-wing fly again…" He continued talking about how miserable his experience had been in animated tones, wearing quite a pleased expression despite himself. "And then, Astrakhan—no sorry, _Pieter_—puts on Celestina Warbeck _again_ and I honestly thought I was going to drink the potion myself…" He stopped talking, and tilted his head curiously at Rose. "Hey, you alright? You seem a little shaken up."

Rose tore her eyes away from the distance and met her cousin's concerned look with a faint smile. "I'm fine. It's just been a hell of a day, that's all."

**AAA. **

**Reviews appreciated! Now that Rose is finally single and she and Scorpius have (sort of) come to terms with their attraction for one another, any thoughts? **

**Will update soon, and close off fifth-year. **

**Love, **

**Missuswitch**


	11. Wheels to Wisdom

**Wheels to Wisdom **

**Thanks to everyone who has followed me and reviewed me so far! It's been such good encouragement. I would love to have more feedback. This is a first fanfic, so I'm a bit on unsteady ground here. Trying to update more frequently now before uni starts again, so I'll have as many chapters up as possible. **

**I've mapped out the story, and it seems like this might be a 30-chapter-ish (give or take two or three chapters) story, so if for now it appears that our fav couple is going to get together any time soon, you'll have to wait awhile and suffer through a couple more obstacles. I know that's just what most people enjoy, though, nothing should be too easy **

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to the Great JKR. I just tinker-tanker. **

AAA.

Someone had brought booze on the train, and all hell had broken loose.

It wasn't even a question of where or when the aforementioned booze had been obtained, nor was it really a question of how to contain the chaos. The prefects were in charge of keeping order but it was the end of the school-year, and even Head Boy and Head Girl were happy to finish off their last ride from Hogwarts with a bang.

Whoever had devised the prefect system a so that students could take responsibility over one another had not anticipated its one fatal flaw:

Teenagers. With alcohol.

As a result, the first, second and third-years were left unattended, quarantined somewhere on the front of the train after realizing that they were much too young to join in on the fun and that watching their elder counterparts muck around in their business was not something they were keen to remember over the holidays.

This left the older students dominion over the back end of the train, and all the usual functions of a train became tools of teenage fancy. Compartments acted as broom cupboards, which in reality acted as snogging facilitators. The corridors became a lounge for students too inebriated to find their way back to their original seats. The poor trolley lady became the go-to person for directions to the loo. And the loo, of course, became a disaster.

Scorpius Malfoy was having the time of his life. Their compartment, which was filled exclusively with Slytherins, was by far the sleaziest-having nicked three bottles of FIrewhiskey and a generous flagon of Cherry Sparkles from the prefect's compartment. After getting the majority of the boys and girls in his house severely wasted, Scorpius believed he truly deserved a proper reward and so when Chantal flopped onto his lap and proceeded to snog him senseless, he gladly reciprocated.

Al, in a much less obscene fashion, opted for two bottles of Ogden's finest rum, which he shared amongst Rose, Rowan, Drew, and Amanda Longbottom. Their faces grew more and more puce with each mouthful they swallowed and their conversations turning up in volume as the alcohol slowly made their way into their systems. His girlfriend was nowhere to be seen, but he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

But no one enjoyed themselves more than Carpathia, who had since that day in the forest been inseparable from Devon, and now they were locked up in their own private compartment kissing passionately while alternatively downing a special decanter of Devon's own mix of alcohol.

"This is mental," remarked Carpathia quietly with a laugh.

"What are you talking about? Hogwarts has _always _been known for its serious academic culture," replied Devon with a smirk, who slowly kissing his way up her neck. "Either way, I don't mind at _all_."

"You wouldn't."

They kissed for several more minutes on the compartment bench, and he gingerly shifted his body towards her until his leg had wrapped over her own and he was nearly on top of her.

"Devon."

"What? Do you want me to stop?"

"No, I just—I'm really-" Carpathia started, and her face brimmed into a smile. "I'm really happy you're here, that's all."

"Of course I'd be here, Pegs," said Devon with a roll of his eyes and an affectionate smile. "There's no one else I could be with."

"I dunno what I'd do next year without you around. Come to think of it, I don't know what Erin and Keegan will do now that you and Adara have graduated."

"Destroy their livers, probably."

"Buy Muggle fags."

"Oh, the horror."

Carpathia chuckled, and stroked his face with one hand quietly for several seconds. He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. "We had a good year though, didn't we, Pegs?"

"Yeah," she answered smilingly. "And now you'll be in London and I'll be at Hogwarts. We'll see each other every once in awhile."

"Mm." He had resumed kissing her, sinking down on the lower end of her body. His fingers brushed against her navel as she felt him lift up her shirt, and then his lips were on her stomach and her bellybutton.

"Dev—Devon," said Carpathia somewhat unsteadily as her hormones registered what he was doing to her. "Where are you working, anyway?"

"What? Oh," Devon paused for several seconds, and continued vaguely: "Some law firm dad set me up with. You've probably never heard of it. Deskjob. Boring as fuck."

"Oh, I see. Near the Ministry?"

"Er…close by, I suppose. I'm not too spot-on with the details."

"Oh. Would it be alright if I came to visit you over the holidays, then?"

"I dunno about that, Pegs."

"Why not?"

Devon stopped, sounding slightly exasperated. "What's with the interrogation?"

Carpathia frowned. "Sorry. I just—I'm just wondering if we're still going to be together. We never talked about, well, plans."

"I thought plans were obvious."

"Not really. I was angry with you, and then you told me…you loved me, and we snogged, and we've been doing that ever since," pandered Carpathia uncertainly, and now realizing that the way she was saying it did make it sound all rather stupid. "We _are_ still together, aren't we?"

Devon withdrew his hands from underneath her top, and his face finally appeared before her with a tender smile. "_Yes_, love, we're together." His lips curled slightly, as though he was mocking himself. "Like Bonnie and Clyde. Flowers and chocolates. The whole drill."

"Oh," exhaled Carpathia, not understanding why she had felt so unsettled before. "That sounds brilliant." And then with a satisfied feeling in her gut she gave herself into Devon's wandering hands, and as he kissed her all over, she felt those hands wander up her shirt and shivered in nervous excitement when she felt his cold skin brushing against her chest.

It wasn't anything they hadn't done before, but this time she could feel his need emanating from him, more determined and resolute than before. Her top slipped off in a frantic haze, followed by his, and soon his other hand had found the button of her jeans. Before she could utter a small warning call, he was tugging down the hem of her trousers, his hand edging his way down her underwear. She gasped, and he pulled away immediately.

Just like that, they had drifted into uncharted territory.

"Carpathia…" he murmured huskily, sounding as though he was coming out of a dream. "Sorry, I forgot you were…still a…"

"Virgin?" finished Carpathia with a flushed expression, her heartbeat thundering in her chest. "Yes, and… we're in a train compartment…"

"Does that bother you?" said Devon quickly, "We could put a _Muffliato _charm over this place, and you wouldn't have to hear anybody outside…"

"No, that's not—I mean yes, do that, but—that's not-" Carpathia cut herself off with a sharp breath and closed her eyes.

Since when had the thought of losing her virginity made her feel so nervous? She had known ages ago that when the time finally happened she would have no romanticized notions about it. Sex was, really, just sex.

Devon trailed the side of her face with one finger, looking at her with a sheepish expression. "Do you want to? We don't have to if you don't want to…"

His dark green eyes were really hauntingly beautiful in the dim light, much more subtle than Al's eyes had ever been, though Carpathia wondered why she had to make that comparison.

"I do…I just have a lot of nerves that need calming down. It's no good when I'm like this," she explained wryly.

"Oh." Understanding flashed across his eyes. "Well, you know, I've still got…if you want some…"

The silver box. Pegasus. Carpathia felt the familiar inner battle roar up inside her, and it was almost as if she could Al's voice speaking in the back of her mind: _Iz doesn't feed me alcohol or narcotics as a past-time_. But then, there was Pegasus itself, which was a voice that was neither boy or girl but simply a miraculous entity echoing from paradise, whispering: _You know you want it_.

Pegasus was breathtaking, a dream beyond a dream. It made you feel like anything was bloody possible.

Devon withdrew the box, and when she heard the rattle of the pills inside, she knew she'd been won over.

He met her eyes with a surprised but satisfied grin and opened the box like it was a treasure chest. "Ladies first."

Her fingers encountered hard, smooth surface of the circular pill and when she pulled it out, she realized she was now looking at it for the first time in months. It was the color of pale lavender, but it smelled like peonies. In its center was inked a simple, elegant _P. _

And yet…Carpathia hesitated, turning to Devon in a moment of indecision, but he caught her eye with a mischievous look and then it just seemed ridiculous to have come so far and still doubt so much. They swallowed simultaneously,

It took only several moments for the effects of the pill to hit, but Carpathia knew they could last up to three hours. There were three stages, Devon had once told her, _calm, euphoria, and then you're flying. _She could her feel her muscles relaxing amongst the stiffness of her bones, and the dim lights suddenly threw the compartment into shades of gold and rose, and all Carpathia wanted to do was sink into Devon's arms and feel nothing and everything.

She felt at peace. She felt unnaturally, comically, and undeniably happy.  
>"I love you," It came out as a sigh, more of an answer than a statement, though she wasn't entirely sure why at that moment it had felt so necessary to reemphasize that.<p>

Devon's eyes softened, and he bent down to kiss her. "I love you too, Pegs." And it seemed that she had responded sufficiently, because he slowly pulled down her underwear and ventured where no one had ever gone before.

Carpathia closed her eyes, and somewhere amongst her muted emotions she could sense terror and icy-cold excitement, but Devon was good at what he did and all of that was washed away into a haze of that consuming, rosy-gold happiness, which left her nothing to do but to give herself to him.

AAA.

"I think I'm properly pissed now," commented Amanda Longbottom with a loud giggle as she finished off her round of Ogden's and passed it to Rose, who uncapped it and downed it.

Drew smirked. "That was fast. _Weak, _Longbottom."

"_Prick_, Caraway."

"I like the sound of that," remarked Rowan, as he swallowed a burp. "Prick Caraway…"

"People would think he was overcompensating," added on Al with a grin, as Rose silently passed the bottle to him. The acrid smell of Ogden's made him want to vomit, but he held his nose and swallowed another mouthful. The alcohol burnt a path of fire down his chest and seemed to add another brick to his already rather dizzy head. "Fuck, that's awful."

"Do you remember our first bottle of Ogden's, Rosie?" recalled Amanda, leaning her shoulder into Rose's and almost falling into her lap.

Rose purposely looked away. "Can't recall."

"Of course you do, Rosie-Red, it was your first-"

"Shhhht!" Rose hissed, though her face threatened a smile. "Mum's the word, remember, Mands?"

Drew's eyebrows perked up in interest. "First what? _First what_?"

"Sod off, Drew."

"Is this what I think it is?"

"Fair warning: I _will _use this bottle to smite your testicles if you don't back off."

"Oh _my_, it is."

"Flippin' hell."

"Red, I'm beggin' ya for details. D'you know what the implication of that statement sends to us blokes over here? We have to know, otherwise it'll rot through our minds over the summer and you'll find zombies sitting with ya on the train-ride next term back to old Hoggers."

Rowan nodded solemnly. "Amen."

"I don't want to know," called Al, but no one was listening.

"Oh come on, Rosie," whined Amanda in a sing-song voice, "Let's tell them! _I want to tell a story!_"

"Tell them about the time you gave Roswood a heart-attack in Herbology when you bent over and your pants ripped."

"Oh, you _bitch_. Well, you asked for it. It was the first time Rose ever-"

"Ever realized Mands over here has breasts for brains," finished Rose breezily, leaning into Amanda's face with a cheeky grin. The girl was so out of it she simply groaned and tried to sit up, but couldn't. Then, Rose faced the others and stage-whispered: "That's why she's got such big tits you know."

"Does she?" inquired Drew as if he had just noticed, his attention now piqued onto the subject of women's anatomy. He took a good eyeful at Amanda's chest and then stated, "Affirmative. The Gentleman concurs."

Al snorted. "Still sticking with that nickname, are you?"

There was a second's pause (and a sizable burp), and then Drew said, "Go out with me, Longbottom?"

There were groans all around.

"_Mate._"

"You're a pig."

"_So _uncool."

"Hey, let the lady talk," protested Drew indignantly.

Amanda was still lying over Rose's lap, though her arms were outstretched in front of her as she rummaged through the cushions of the compartment. "Where's that bloody bottle—hah, what?" She seemed to realize that Drew was still waiting for an answer, and so she promptly replied, "Oh, right," and stuck up her middle finger.

There was a burst of loud laughter around the compartment and Drew's face twisted into acknowledged defeat, allowing Rowan and Al to pour a sizable portion of Ogden's into his mouth. Then, the compartment door burst open, and it took several seconds of hazy silence before its current residents registered that standing in the doorway was Scorpius (with Chantal latched onto him like an urchin), Lucas, and Gareth Nott.

"Ohoy, Potter and the Gryffindors," stated Scorpius, his face quite flushed already. He amended himself when he saw Rowan's navy Ravenclaw robes peeping from under his seat. "And Thomas. What are you lot doing? Getting cozy over Ogden's? How pathetic."

"_Actually_ we were just talking about my breasts!" announced Amanda quite proudly, having finally managed to sit up from Rose's lap.

Scorpius took several seconds to appraise the topic at hand, and then he conceded. "Acceptable." Amanda beamed.

Al regarded his roommate with a quizzical expression. "You were looking for something?"

"You, actually." He surveyed the room with critical eyes. "Where's your other half?"

"Somewhere off with her friends. Why?"

"Just didn't expect to see you not your sorry, googly-eyed self, is all."

"Gosh, I'm so glad I restored your memories, Malfoy."

Lucas slid in past Scorpius and settled in next to Al. "Hey, mate." He was grinning from ear to ear like an idiot. "Some train-ride, eh? Your brother's a complete wanker, but he sure knows how to run a party."

"Yup, I've heard."

"Not much of a party in here at the moment," smirked Scorpius, and then he drew out two bottles of Firewhiskey from the inside of his coat and tossed them to Drew and Rowan. "Here, spread the luv."

"Christ. Thanks, Malfoy," whistled Rowan with raised eyebrows. "Awfully generous of you."

"Haven't you heard the saying, '_alcohol brings out the best in people'_?"

"Where'd you score the whole lot?"

" 'ee stole them from ze Prefect's _compartement_," blurted out Chantal with a throaty laugh, and prompting Drew to stare avidly at her swaying form. It seemed that liquor was able to significantly thicken her French accent. "My Scorpius can be such a bad boy." She kissed him promptly on the cheek.

"Yeah, well, he really shouldn't steal from his fellow prefects, seeing as he's one himself," commented Rose acidly.

Rowan elbowed her and said pointedly at the prefect's badge glinting on her chest, "So are we."

"Right," adjusted Rose dazedly with a dismissive wave of her hand. "But no one wants Ogden's; that stuff's bloody awful. Well, unless you're Ogden, but then again he probably was a petty bastard who took advantage of everyone around him by selling his horrible shit, and everyone believed him—of course—because they're idiots, and idiots really ought to be on their guards and they ought to know that petty bastards can't change because…" she concluded with a satisfied smile, "They're always going to be bastards."

"Rose is drunk," explained Al.

"I am not. Your mother's drunk."

"Right. Point made."

"Well, zat is completely understandable," said Chantal, flouncing into the compartment and sitting cross-legged across from Rose with a tantalizing smile on her lips. "_Eenglish_ girls cannot 'old zer liquor as well as _French _girls. _French_ girls haff been drinking zis stuff since zey were _twelve_, and English girls simply don't haff ze know-'ow. It is stupid for zem to theenk zey can compete." She leaned back, eyes glittering maliciously, and some of her accent seemed to fade. "French girls will always win."

There was something more going on here, thought Al, but at that moment he knew that he—and everyone else in the compartment—could hardly care less.

"Oy, slag, my tits are still larger than yours," proclaimed Amanda with a challenging glint in her eye. Chantal rolled her eyes, and it incensed her even more. "Don't believe me?" she took off her cardigan, exposing her breasts even more now that she was only dressed in a slim tanktop. "C'mon. Feel 'em. I dare ya."

"Well now, this just got interesting, and I think I'll stay," mused Scorpius, stepping into the compartment and swaying slightly as the train buckled. "Coming, Gareth?"

Gareth, who still had not uttered a word since he had arrived, gave no indication that he had been drinking except for the fact that his face was the exact same hue as a tomato. He nodded gruffly, followed Scorpius, and the two boys squeezed into the space next to Chantal, causing the rest of the people in the compartment to feel as packed up as a can of sardines.

"So this is really happening, then? We're mingling with Slytherins now?" grumbled Drew, "Wot's next? Sharing Quidditch strategy?"

"We provided the alcohol," pointed out Scorpius.

"I'm Slytherin Captain," reminded Al with a snort.

"And as for Quidditch strategy, you could learn a lil' something from us," smirked Lucas.

"Damn right!" burst out Gareth for the first time, and the entire compartment let out a series of guffaws. He looked around him and shrugged in puzzlement. "Wot? We destroyed 'em this year."

"With regards to our Captain," reinforced Scorpius, and Al grinned.

Drew now looked significantly more miffed. He folded his arms and sat back with a defiant glare. "Complete fluke. We coulda won the last match, you lot just-"

"Completely annihilated your defense line?" suggested Al, now returning to what he knew familiarly as his post as Quidditch Captain. No one, not even Gryffindors, could deter him from remembering his place when it came to Quidditch. "I remember. Got a full earful from James." He smiled wickedly. "Plus, our Seeker caught the Snitch fifteen minutes in." Drew scoffed. "Don't believe me? Ask our commentator."

Rowan confirmed it with a nod. "Fastest game Hogwarts has seen in years."

"There you have it," Scorpius said loudly with a proud glint in his eye, raising his bottle to Al, "Best fucking team on the planet. Gryffindor sucks!"

"Gryffindor sucks!" the other Slytherin boys in the compartment yelled, downing their drinks.

"Well, darling you haff always been wonderful," slurred Chantal, crawling onto Scorpius' lap after he had finished his drink. He turned to her with a sleepy expression, his eyes half-lidded as the alcohol began to settle in. "So handsome on your broomsteek…."

She giggled slightly as his arms slid around her waist and he muttered something in her ear. There was a stupefied expression over his features before she leaned in and planted him on the lips, her hair falling into a glossy curtain over the two of them.

"Buggery hell, Malfoy."

"_Ugh_, I think I'm going to be sick."

"Excuse me."

The last one was Rose. She had uttered it so softly that only Al and Rowan, who were sitting next to her, could have heard. Wordlessly, she got up from her seat and parted through the clamor almost unnoticeably due to the rowdiness of the other members in the compartment. When she passed Al, he glimpsed her stricken expression through her auburn hair, but before he could act on it, she had opened the compartment door and left.

The alcohol permeated Al's brain, and he shrugged it off. He turned towards the others with a daring grin on his lips, ready to engage in the Quidditch debate that now going on between his house-mates and the Gryffindors.

AAA.

Rose left the compartment unable to breath. She walked a little ways down the corridor and then when she thought it was far enough, she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, feeling as though her heart was about to burst.

_Get a grip_, _you _bint, she told herself, her head swimming from all the liquor she'd just consumed. _Why do you feel this way? He doesn't remember. You knew this when Al told you a couple days ago. He doesn't remember. _

But it didn't stop the tears threatening to spill from her eyes, which made her slam the wall angrily with a fist, more enraged at herself than anything. He wasn't even the same person anymore! Why did she bloody care? He had Chantal, and they were bloody Slytherin King and Queen and they—they could have each other.

If anyone, she ought to be miserable over Carter, not Scorpius Arse-of-the-Milennia Malfoy.

_Just the alcohol, _she told herself, fighting to calm her breathing, _alcohol heightens activity in the amygdala, which is the portion of the brain most responsible for primal urges, and therefore subjects the intoxicated to intense bouts of emotion—what the _fuck_ am I saying?_

There was a loud laugh to her right, causing Rose to peer down the corridor and see a familiar flash of golden-brown hair and the somewhat bulky figure of Carter McLaggen stumbling in what was an obviously inebriated manner. He was running hand-in-hand with…Easy Ellie.

Rose smiled wryly to herself and kept her eyes fixated on them, wondering if she could will herself to feel more perturbed about this and less about Scorpius Malfoy. Maybe if she did, she could return to the compartment and not feel like she wanted to stab Chantal with one of the girl's own three-inch heels-

"Rose." She nearly squeaked when Rowan materialized before her, waving a hand in front of her face.

"Shit! You scared me."

"Are you okay? You just walked out of there." His voice was slightly slurred, but otherwise he was looking at her quite steadily.

"I'm sure no one noticed."

"That doesn't explain why-" Rowan followed her gaze, and when he saw Carter, who was still unaware of their presence and now kissing Ellie quite ferociously against the wall, his eyes darkened. "_Prick_. It's hardly been a week since you two…and now he's off snogging other girls…do you want me to sock him for ya, Red?"

"No, that's quite alright. I was the one who broke his heart anyway." She had calmed down now and was now smiling rather pacifically at him.

"Please tell me what the matter is, Red. You've been off since…since you and Carter…y'know…and Drew and I are worried." He amended himself. "Well, just me. I am the Best Male Friend of the Year after all."

"The very best," Rose agreed.

"Do I have to bring out some Firewhiskey to get you to talk?"

"Oho. And he starts to use coercive techniques."

"Don't get snarky. Just…do it for a concerned mate of yours. I need to know if-" He paused. "If you'll be alright till the next time I see you."

Rose took a deep breath and stared at the bloke who had been her friend since they were in nappies. He really did truly know her, every part of her, possibly even the ugliest parts. "Don't judge me. Please."

" 'course not."

"It's not Carter."

Rowan took this information in with surprise. "_Oh_. Blimey. You fancy someone new?"

"No, not fancy," replied Rose automatically, but then the exhaustion of having to keep it all a secret seeped in and the words came spilling out in a river of emotions. "I just can't stop thinking about him," her words caught in a shaky breath, "and—and it's driving me bloody _insane_. And the problem is that I don't want to ruin anything because the way it is now is how it's always been and that's perfect, but then again it's _not_ perfect because he deserves someone who could understand him…" she fell back against the wall, her voice softening. "And then there's Carter, and the fact that we just broke up means that I'm probably in a really vulnerable place and shouldn't trust my emotions. Which, honestly, makes everything even more confusing but…" she exhaled with finality. "No. I don't fancy him."

"Who is it?" Rowan asked amusedly.

"I can't say." She shook her head when he regarded her with an insistent expression. "In all seriousness, Rowan. If I say it out loud then it makes it real, and I—I just need to put him out of my mind for good."

"That's stupid. What if he felt the same way about you?" inquired Rowan quietly, and some obscure portion of Rose's mind registered that the constant buckling of the train had caused him to sway extremely closely to her. She could almost smell his breath.

"Then sod it," she said briskly. The train bounced again and then he was thrown back slightly back away from her. "Because I don't. I refuse to feel that way about him."

"Well, there ya go, Red," replied Rowan in that same quiet tone, cuffing her cheek affectionately. "See? Look at that, you're smiling."

Rose shot him a look, but he was right; she was smiling, and quite largely at that too. "It's the alcohol."

"Either way. It's a better look for you."

"Are you saying I'm ugly, Thomas?"

"Oh no. Love is a red, red rose, that's newly sprung in June, remember all that?"

"Scarringly."

"Well, if I wasn't your best Male Friend of the Year, I'd say you were exceptionally sprung." He slung his arm around her shoulder and steered her back towards the compartment. "I don't judge that you fancy someone already, not a bit. I never liked Carter anyway. Shall we head back inside and get even more sloshed?"

She nodded, but she couldn't shake the feeling that the load in her chest was still there, anchored to her heart like some disease. "Merlin's beard, yes."

AAA.

There were three stages of Pegasus: calm, euphoria, and then flying. That's what Devon had said. The only problem was that it was impossible to determine when one stage was transitioning to the next. When someone wasn't completely emotionally stable at the time of taking the drug, there were known incidents of utter disaster. 'Flying', for example, was something no one could really explain. Some said it was literally the physical act of levitation, others believed it was all in the mind. One thing was for certain, though, and it was the reason why the Ministry had issued a ban on Pegasus in the first place:

It was the flying that had changed those incidents from disastrous to deaths.

Carpathia had lost her virginity in the middle of the calm. It was a hazy experience, scattered with memories tinted in a rosy-golden hue of panting and flesh and a little pain. There were flashes of terror and delight and even wonder. But she couldn't remember when it had truly begun and when it had ended, because time now seemed like it was unnescessary, just some arbitrary bothersome thing. That was how the calm made you feel.

In a thunderclap, Carpathia found herself suddenly in the prefect's compartment and not remembering how she got there.

There were several aspects of this she had to register before she could decide what to do. One was that the prefect's compartment was an utter mess—there was a heavy bass pounding in the background, bottles of booze just lying around like corpses, the most respectable people from school acting like completely uncoordinated idiots. The other was that she was alone.

Carpathia took several long breaths, trying to find some sort of direction in her thick, cloudy mind.

When had she and Devon separated? It had to be after the sex, of course, but had he said where he was going? And _why_ had he gone?

Come to think of it, how the fuck had she walked all the bloody way here?

Her heart began to pound, and she told her mind to shut up. _Okay, Thia. First things first. Find someone you know. _She pushed past a gaggle of loud, giggling Ravenclaw prefects, and headed for the knot of people in the center of the room, which was most likely the source of booze.

"Watch it!" yelled someone she vaguely remembered as Kevin as he jostled right through her with a group of boys. They were heaving another crate of what was no doubt another round of alcohol.

"Oy, Kevs! Bring it here!" she heard Fred Weasley—_Fred Weasley. Al's cousin. _The identification promptly made her stumble in that direction.

Of course, right next to him was James Potter. The seventh-year's unruly hair appeared above the clamor as he raised a cup of what looked like a liquid that was emitting clouds of smoke. "To another round of debauchery, my fellow graduates!"

There was a loud cheer, and several people in the crowd raised their own cups and drank in unison. The noise made Carpathia sway on her feet slightly, upsetting her balance.

She fell sideways, knocked into a slight figure beside her, and felt the splash of warm liquid on her wrist.

"Oh, shit! Sorry, I didn't mean to-" Carpathia recognized that shrill voice instantly, and turned.

It was Isabel, but it was Isabel unlike she'd ever seen her.

The girl's trademark ribbons were all askew around her brown hair, and her eyes were bright with alcohol-consumption. More importantly, though (and Carpathia had no idea why her instinct told her to look there) the top two buttons of her blouse were unbuttoned.

"Isa—Isabel," she replied cheerily. "What a surprise. What are you doing here?"

Isabel's cheeks colored instantly. "I—I—nothing, of course. How long have you been here?"

Carpathia chuckled. "That is really _not _the question to be asking me at the moment." The pounding her heart was getting quite distracting. It resonated in her ears and made her blood skitter in her veins like a tap-dancing spider. _Oh, good one Carpathia, you're hilarious._

She really just wanted to do something, like climb up on the Prefect's table and dance, or maybe scale the wall.

"So you—you didn't see anything?"

"Like what?" Carpathia answered, humming to herself. Yes, the music was really fucking brilliant. Whoever had decided to bring a stereo was a true genius. Her head unconsciously started to bob.

_Was there something I was going to do? I can't remember. _"Where's Al?" she inquired blearily.

Isabel was starting to look rather uncomfortable. "I—I don't know. I thought you would be with him-"

The pounding in Carpathia's heart was increasing. It was like a balloon was expanding behind her cranium, threatening to burst. She had to get up and do something soon.  
>"Thia!"<p>

When her head turned to the sound of the person calling her name, there was another thunderclap and the world exploded into a myriad of colors, bouncing off another in a way that was physically impossible and was still the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

"Thia!" Isabel's flustered expression had vanished and was instead replaced by the face of Erin.

"Stormwallis…" murmured Carpathia, her jaw still hanging as Erin's face appeared to her in a bobble of orange and green, a strangely compatible combination.

"God, Thia, you look like shit. Bugger off, Marrieto. You're not supposed to be here. Only fifth-years and up."

Carpathia heard Isabel's indignant splutter. "I—I have every right-"

"You can keep talking, but I still won't be listening. Don't you have a Potter to get back to?" This had evidently chased Isabel off, because Erin was now putting her hands on Carpathia's shoulders and steering her towards a table. Carpathia gripped the solid surface like it was a life-raft. "Merlin's beard, Thia, what are you on?"

"Where's Devon?" gasped Carpathia, trying to shake away the blinding colors.

"Devon?" repeated Erin in a confused tone. "He got off at Longsborough, about ten minutes ago."

_Longsborough. _That didn't make any sense, argued Carpathia's dull rationale. "The train stopped at Longsborough?"

"Yes. And he left. I thought you knew."

"I—I didn't. I was…" But she couldn't remember. Her last memory of Devon was him kissing the top of her head when she was putting her top back on. He'd brushed her cheek briefly. _Sorry, love, that didn't hurt, did it? _"Why isn't he going to London? Why didn't he say goodbye?"

"Why would he be going to London?"

"He's working there."

"Thia," said Erin slowly, "What have you heard?"

The world spun dizzyingly around her. "He told me he loved me and that we were going to be together."

Erin put her face in her hands, and when she looked up again, her expression was distraught. "Fuck. Oh you silly, silly bint. Come on, we gotta go find Keegan and Adara." Carpathia felt her friend's cool hands on her own, but she pulled away, her emotions suddenly heightened by a surge of panic.

Her fists clenched and she steadied her voice with a shaky breath. "_What the bloody hell is going on_?"

AAA.

Al wasn't entirely sure when he sobered up, but it had been somewhere around the time when Carpathia's name was mentioned. The compartment, which had been generally occupied with Gryffindors previously, now ironically consisted of just Slytherins. Rose and Rowan had departed quite a while ago and had still not returned. Drew had finally convinced Amanda that going off to a quiet place to snog was better than listening to the Slytherins gloat about their Quidditch victories.

Which left Al with Scorpius, Gareth, and Chantal.

Meaning that, in reality, it was just Gareth because Malfoy was too busy sucking face with Chantal to engage in verbal conversation.

"Did we just past Longsborough?" pondered Al out loud, as he drew open the curtain and read the sign flashing past their window. "Getting close to King's Cross."

"Blimey," replied Gareth with dazed expression. "I'd better go find Carpathia soon, then."

Al frowned. "I thought she was with you the whole time."

Gareth scoffed. "Why? She's _your_ mate, innit?"

"She's _your_ sister, innit?" countered Al sarcastically, feeling a rush of anger heat up his bloodstream. "Flippin' hell, Gareth. Are you bloody telling me that she's been wandering around alone this whole time?"

Gareth's hackles rose at the sound of Al's accusatory tone. "Don't talk to me that way, Potter."

Al glared at him. "Like hell I can't. This is a new level of negligence, even for you, Nott."

"Me? Negligent?" sneered Gareth. "She's with her boyfriend, you twat. Or have you been too busy snogging your girlfriend to notice?"

"Boyfriend?" repeated Al, feeling his stomach flip over multiple times in shock. _After everything he'd ever said to her about that bloke?_ "She's going out with Devon Lynch now?"

Gareth's eyes glittered. "That's what she told me. S'pose you're the last to know."

It wasn't really the idea of her going out with Devon that stung, it was the fact that she hadn't bothered to tell him. Or felt that she needed to keep it a secret. Her first boyfriend, and she'd told her brother—a bloke who hadn't spoken to her in the five years they'd been at Hogwarts—over him? Bloody hell, that hurt.

Chantal broke apart from Scorpius at the sound of Devon Lynch's name and stated in a matter-of-fact tone: "Well, they will not be going out any longer." Her French accent had finally faded away.

"What'd you mean?"

Chantal rolled her eyes, pushing herself off Scorpius' lap and facing them with her legs crossed. "_Vous etes des idiots. _Why do boys never keep up with gossip? That's why the train had to stop at Longsborough. Have you not heard?"

"Heard what?" demanded Al, and a cold sense of foreboding washed over him.

Chantal shrugged nonchalantly. "Devon never graduated. He was expelled."

AAA.

"Keegan! Where the _hell_ is Adara?" seethed Erin in an icy voice with her hand still clamped on Carpathia's arm as she pulled the girl in tow. Carpathia dimly registered the presence of the boy by the shape of his curly black hair, which was so similar to Devon's that she just couldn't help but reach out for it…

"Cor, what's the matter with her?" she heard Keegan ask in astonishment.

"Dunno, something Devon bloody Lynch did to her. So bugger the _fuck_ off and get Adara for me, will ya?" The world was starting to tilt again and her knees felt soft like jelly. She sank downwards and heard Erin's voice echo urgently in her ear, _"Stay with me, Thia. Don't pass out yet,"_ though it sounded so far away…as if she were underwater…

"Wotcher, little C." Adara's cool voice seemed to pull her out of the watery depths of her mind, and Carpathia blinked several times, quickly trying to piece together where she was.

They were sitting in a quiet compartment now, away from the music—just her, Erin, Keegan, and Adara. When that had happened, she wasn't sure, but she took a shaky breath and was relieved to be able to hear the sound of her own voice.

"What is happening to me."

Adara tutted. "See, that's what happens when you give underage witches a potent, _illegal _drug." She turned to Erin and Keegan with a placating shake of her head. "I asked her to stay away from him, you know, but she wouldn't listen."

"Shut up, you horrible _cow_," burst out Erin angrily, and she took a step closer as though she was about to take a swing at her. "You didn't tell her, did you? Even though she has every right to know, and even though I asked you to—for God's sake, all of us were _friends_ once."

"I wanted to teach her a lesson," continued Adara in that same cool voice, though there was now an undercurrent of fire beneath her words. "Now she knows. You don't trust Devon Lynch."

"Will someone _please_ tell me what's going on?" groaned Carpathia, putting her head in her hands.

"Let me guess, did he tell you he loves you? Did he tell you that you are the only one who understands him? That's what he used to say to all of us, you know, before we all grew up and stopped having that starry-eyed look in our eyes whenever we looked at him. That's why he liked _you_ so much." Adara spat. "You were the youngest, so bloody naïve, but that's just the sort he needs to boost his self-esteem. Only you were the one who was still able to see him as some sort of tortured hero."

"I slept with him," said Carpathia slowly, as though it was just beginning to hit her. "Just now, before he got off the train."

There was a palpable silence, and Erin pounded the wall with a furious choke. "_Goddammit_, Adara."

"Merlin's beard, Stormwallis, I'm telling her now, alright?" snapped Adara, though she sounded shaken. She resumed with an attempted tone of indifference. "I told the staff that Devon had acquired a supply of Pegasus pills and had not only been taking them but was also feeding them to a younger student." Carpathia's heart sank at her words, knowing what was coming next. "I didn't tell them it was you, even though Longbottom practically groveled for a name. Despite what—what you may think of me, the last thing I am is…" Adara's spine straightened and she looked at Carpathia in the eye with conviction. "I am not a sell-out. But Devon had gone too far."

Carpathia simply waited for the other shoe to drop.

"Well, naturally the school had to report it, of course. Some Ministry officials were involved to confiscate the drugs, and because Devon's of age, the consequences were quite ugly…"

She hesitated, then continued. "They informed his father that he was going to have to be deported and that he wouldn't be allowed to return to Britain for the next five years. That was his sentence. Hogwarts had him expelled, of course, so he never graduated, and the only incident was very hushed up. Devon only told me a couple nights after it happened."

"In the end, Devon's father decided it was best for him to finish school next year at Durmstrang. Devon was all packed and ready by the time school ended, you know; he had no plans to set foot in London. What he wanted was to get off the train at Longsborough with his bags, meet his father there, and take a Portkey straight to France, where the Lynches have a summer home." Adara gazed at Carpathia with a look that was almost akin to pity. "I suppose he followed his plans through."

Carpathia took a deep shaky breath. Erin reached out to her with her mouth open, but she cut her off. "Don't."

She stood up on swaying limbs, feeling oddly numb. There was no pain, no anguish, not even anger. Just…emptiness. She felt as if she had been poured empty.

"You lot can go to hell," she said quietly, and then exited the compartment before her former companions could have made up their minds to follow her. When the stream of music reached her ears again, the colors of the world bloomed before her again and she let down her last conscious mental defense so that they could engulf her completely.

AAA.

"Pegasus," echoed Al with a dull click of revelation. So Devon had been on drugs—and not only drugs, but _illegal_ deport-worthy drugs. Why was he so entirely unsurprised?

"Ah _oui_, such a large scandal. Even the Ministry authorities had to come and visit Longbottom to ensure it wasn't happening to other students. Mr. Lynch was in _quite _some trouble," reported Chantal with an almost pleased expression.

Gareth seemed to be wrestling an inner battle of staying put or leaving the compartment undoubtedly to put a hole through someone's wall. His face was morphing into a nasty shade of scarlet. "And Carpathia's been—been—fraternizing with—d'ya think she _knows_?"

"Of course she does. Carpathia's not that stupid," replied Scorpius in a confident tone, though there was a frown creased on his face.

There was something niggling at the edge of Al's mind like an incessant worm. What was it, exactly? A word, a phrase that he had heard in passing.

It was important, but why?

"…your sister knows what's good for her."

A flash. Another click, and in his memory, Al was suddenly transported back to the Hogwarts' grounds on what had been a particularly sunny day during fifth-year. He was standing next to Carpathia and, with watery clarity, he remembered they had run into Devon Lynch and they'd begun speaking. The significance of the memory was that it was the first time he had seen Devon really up close, but more importantly, it was the first time that he had ever suspected something more than friendship was going on between them.

What was that he had said to her?

"_I know what's good for you, Pegs. See ya later, yeah?" _

And she'd replied, in an unusually girlish manner: "_If you behave._"

He had remembered thinking that the nickname was so arbitrarily odd and insisting that Carpathia tell him what it meant, but she had simply shrugged it off and refused to answer.

Now, of course, he knew.

"Gareth," he said suddenly, his hands tightening. "We gotta find her. _Now_." His heart was racing as he grabbed his jacket and opened the compartment door. Gareth sat rooted in his seat, staring at Al in a quizzical manner.

"For fuck's sake, Nott, move your lazy arse before I stick something very sharp and pointy up it," he snapped, and even Scorpius' eyes widened at the venom in Al's tone.

He whipped around and headed down the dim-lit corridor without bothering to see if Gareth was following. It had suddenly occurred to him in a flash of anger that whatever James had tried to pull with his little wheelie soiree may have been bloody epic and whatnot but it was quite dangerous. _Trust sodding James to be completely inconsiderate towards younger children. _He could barely see where he was going, and he doubted first-years would have had better luck.

"Potter, wait up," he heard Gareth's footsteps echoing behind as he called out, but Al ignored him and opened the prefect's compartment.

_Blimey_. He registered the utter pandemonium that was reigning in the compartment with several blinks. A pair of panties, yes _panties_, nearly missed his ear.

The alcohol was certainly fading away into some nether region of his brain, thank god, but it didn't stop him from gawking at Fiona Merris, a fifth-year Ravenclaw prefect, when she lurched on top of him.

"A Potter-Weasley! You're a Potter-Weasley, aren't you?"

She wasn't wearing a shirt. Al's nose was practically caught between her breasts. She did have a lovely magenta bra on though.

"Erm." He stated in a dumb-founded manner.

"Kiss me," she whispered into his ear. "Fred."

"Ah-haha," laughed Al weakly, attempting to shove her away before she could insert her tongue in his ear. "Not Fred."

"Not Fred?" she cocked her head, fixating her unfocused eyes on him. "Louis? _Hugo_?"

Al rolled his eyes and turned the girl towards another equally disoriented bloke. "Albus. Here, kiss him!"  
>"Okay!" she sang, and then catapulted into the bloke's arms.<p>

"Nice save." Al heard his brother's dry voice from behind him, and when he turned, he saw James looking strangely sober but with a rather pleased expression on his face.

"James. Merlin's beard, this place has gone to the dogs."

"Looking for someone, Allie-boy?"

Al craned his head desperately over the crowd. "Yeah, actually. Have you seen Thia?"

"Thia-" James cut himself off with a confused frown. "Y'mean Carpathia Nott? I thought you would be looking for-" and then he interrupted himself again with a gulp, his face suddenly coloring, as though he had said more than he was supposed to.

"She's in a lot of trouble," said Al urgently, closing the distance between him and his brother and grabbing his arm. "If you've seen her…"

James gazed down at him with indeterminable expression—was that guilt flashing through his eyes? But before Al could act on it, it was as if blinds had been pulled across elder brother's features and the boy's shoulders stiffened. "Nah, haven't seen her. You ought to ask Adara." He jerked his head towards a tanned, leggy seventh-year girl and then stalked off before Al could object to another word.

Al stared after him. What the hell had prompted such a change in behavior?

"Potter, there you are," gasped Gareth, having finally managed to jostle himself through the crowd and reaching out to grip his shoulder. "Dumbledore's beard, did a bomb go off in here?"

The girl that James had pointed out was almost out of sight. Al shoved past Gareth, heard him swear in his ear, and then managed to wrestle himself through the crowd of students before he was spat out onto the floor. He climbed to his feet and heard a snicker.

He looked up and there was the girl standing before him, surveying him with heavy-lidded, scornful eyes. "Smooth landing, Potter."

"Adara, right?" he answered w, and her eyes flickered in amusement. "I know you; you're friends with Carpathia. Have you seen her? She's in trouble."

"So _late _on the uptake," sneered Adara, blowing a drag of her cigarette in his face. "And I wouldn't say we were _friends_, not anymore, at least. She told us to basically go off ourselves and then disappeared."

Al inhaled patiently. "Where was she headed?"

"Back of the train."

"Did she seem-" Al tried to force out the edge of desperation in his voice. "Did she seem…odd to you?" She scoffed and turned her head away. "C'mon. Please tell me."

Adara swiveled back around and examined him with a mixture of shock and hilarity. "You fancy her, don't you, mini-Potter?"

"_No_. That's not—that's not the point."

"Well whether you realize it or not, I couldn't give less of a shit," she waved dismissively, her lips twitching maliciously. "But yes, in answer to your question, she did seem rather '_odd'_. Probably because the bloke she was in love with used her to pad his own self-esteem, slept with her without failing to mention that he was never going to see her again, and then walked right out of her life. Oh right, and did I mention that he also fed her one of the most potent illegal drugs known to the Wizarding World?" She chuckled slightly at Al's stony expression. "Don't act so surprised. _I'd_ be surprised if she makes it off this train in one piece."

_So she was on Pegasus. He'd been giving it to her, and I didn't notice. _

Al had heard enough. He let her chuckle to herself a couple more times before shooting her the filthiest glare he could muster, and then striding out of the compartment with a pounding in his ears and the feeling that he was going to hex the first person who got in his way.

He could hear Gareth panting and muttering darkly to himself behind him. At least he was still following.

When he reached the first compartment he saw, he wrenched open the door. A couple third-years years stared back at him from their game of Gobstones. Not her. He slammed it back shut.

Next compartment. Two sixth-years locked heavily in a snog-fest. Nope, not her.

Al continu ask the compartment's inhabitants behind him: "Have you seen my sister? Carpathia Nott?"

After the fifth compartment, the tension building up in Al's ribcage threatened to spill over and he swore loudly in the corridor, kicking the wall. He then promptly found himself facing a girl in a plaid shirt and pigtails, who had halted in her tracks at his outburst.

Al's brain lit up when he realized he recognized her. Thank god Isabel had so many friends. Who was this one? Tracey—no, Tricia.

"Hey! Tricia, have you seen Carpathia Nott?"

The girl's nose scrunched in distaste. "Carpathia's not your girlfriend."

_No shit. _"Spiffing observation skills."

"Watch it, Al. As Izzie's friend, _I _don't think she'd be very pleased to hear that you were spending time with Nott instead of her. Where is she anyway?"  
>"Isabel? I thought <em>you<em> were with-" Al started, but then shook his head in exasperation at Tricia's stern expression and folded arms. It seemed that no one was really where they were supposed to be at the moment. "Just tell me if you've seen Carpathia."

Tricia conceded with an irritated sigh. "I saw her disappear out of the train's rear-door. They've got a nice little platform out there, y'know, where passengers aren't allowed. Weird place to go, if you ask me, and quite dangerous. You could easily fall out onto the tracks." She eyed Al with a pointed look. "_Weird_ girl though, y'know?"

Gareth, who had heard every word, looked as pale as a sheet. "Was she….she acting any different from normal?"

"Tch. _Yeah_," said Tricia with an emphasis. "I'm tellin' ya, that girl is anything but normal. She was crying and laughing and she looked all sorts of mental. Dunno what she was on, but it was definitely not medication—Oi!" she protested as the two boys roughly pushed past her.

Al's heart was pounding so loud that he could hear it resonating in his throat and ears. He could recite every known death amongst Pegasus-users. They had learned about magical drugs during Madam Curatis' Health and Safety class in their fourth-year, and Pegasus had been one of its darkest units. _Dee Waxbury, a Healer from St. Mungo's, jumped off a building under the assumption she was able to fly. Reggie Creetripe, lead singer of the Dark Art Boys, was electrocuted on a telephone wire after hallucinating that he had become a bird…Alfred Button, former head of the department of state affairs in the Ministry of Magic, found dead in the Ministry courtyard after consuming pills containing hallucinogens that prompted him to leap out of his office window…_

Oh God, not Thia.

The rear-door had appeared before them. Al hung back, fear shuddering through his veins, and Gareth twisted open the door handle. A blast of wind greeted the younger Nott twin as he stepped onto the platform in trepidation. Al stood frozen at the doorway, afraid of what he was going to see, as the train tracks and trees rushed dizzyingly past them.

Then, his mind registered what he was seeing. There, standing at the edge of the banister with her back turned towards them, was a figure dressed all in black. Her short, inky hair flapped in the fierce wind.

"Carpathia!" shouted Gareth, fear alive in his voice. "Don't jump!"

_Don't jump, _that's what Al wanted to say, but the words were ripped out of his mouth. His heart was pumping so loudly that he felt as though his head would burst, and the heat in his bloodstream that had been a result of continuous alcohol-consumption and the thought of his dear friend Carpathia's body colliding onto the train-tracks was really all too much…

The last thing Al registered before he fainted was Carpathia raising her arms, as though she was about to take off in flight.

AAA.

"Wake up, you _twat_."

Al blinked open his eyes, and the first thing he saw was Gareth's stricken expression melt into one of absolute scorn.

They were sitting in a clean, untarnished compartment, the windows drawn open. The train was coasting at a nice, steady pace. A cool female voice was radiating through the intercom…

"…_train now ten minutes till King's Cross. Students who have been caught responsible for the degradation of the Hogwarts Express will be notified by their Head of House by mail over the consequences of their actions…parents have been notified by owl…_

"They're really taking punishments seriously now, aren't they?" said a soft familiar voice that made Al's entire body loosen with relief. "Too bad James isn't in school anymore to get detention. And too bad Mr. Potter is entirely too nice of a father to do anything about it."

Al sat up, clutching his head as the blood rushed to his brain, and turned towards the source of the voice. There was Carpathia, perched on the other side of the compartment with her legs tucked in beneath her. She looked cool and composed, her crisp black clothes wrinkle-free and her silver eyes bright. The only trace that she had been remotely shaken up was the faint tremble in her hands, which were folded in her lap.

"You're okay," he breathed, a little stunned. Because she _was_, in her entirety, looking better than he had ever thought she would. "I thought you—you were going to-"

"Jump?" finished Carpathia with a wan smile, "I thought you had better faith in me than that."

"You bloody _fainted_, Potter," snorted Gareth with derision.

Al turned pink. "Don't tell Malfoy."

A smile had begun to form on the other boy's lips. "It'll be a very long-winded, very exaggerated tale, trust me. Did you know Carpathia and I had to _carry _you out of there?"

Al groaned, and Carpathia swatted her brother's arm with a condescending look. "Don't tease him for being worried, Gareth. _You _were worried." She smiled quietly to herself, the first genuine one that Al had seen in ages. "It was…unexpected."

"Of course I was worried," growled Gareth, facing his sister with a suddenly murderous expression. "I'm your bloody brother, not some swotty nancy-boy who thinks he's Albus feckin' Dumbledore but still can't hold his liquor in." Al flushed even redder. "Wait till mum and dad-"

"Don't," interjected Carpathia with a slightly pleading tone in her voice. "Don't tell them, Gareth. For the first time, I'm asking you to do something for _me _and not for them. They don't have to know, no one has to know after today." Her face stiffened in resolve. "It'll never happen again."

The tension in Gareth's expression fell apart, and he sighed, putting his hand against hers for several moments. It struck Al how similar the two of them looked just then, their dark heads pressed together and their identical pale faces lined side-by-side. "I'm sorry I haven't been there," Gareth mumbled gruffly, and Al could have sworn he heard tears in his voice. "I know I act like a wanker and I'm the only person that s'not supposed to because I ought to know when people like-like Devon Lynch are taking advantage of ya…" he shook his head, and wiped his eyes angrily. "I just didn't know-after you'd been Sorted, I dunno, things fell apart, and I didn't want Dad to think that I'd turned-"

"It's alright," replied Carpathia gently. "I know what home's like. I've been there." She cracked a smile.

"It's not fair to you," objected Gareth in a firmer tone. "It's s'not. At all." She nodded tiredly, and he kissed his sister's cheek briefly.

"Gareth?" asked Carpathia in that same gentle tone. "Could I have a word with Al? Alone?"

Gareth hesitated momentarily, but then he fixed an evaluative gaze on Al and something in his defensive stormy-grey eyes crumbled and the contemplative furrow in his forehead smoothed over. It was a, finally, a look of trust. "Yeah, alright." He headed for the door, turned the handle, and then told his sister before he disappeared out into the corridor: "I'll be right down the hall."

There was a heavy silence following the departure of Gareth, but Carpathia finally found her words.

"Al, I'm-"

"It doesn't matter," grounded out Al firmly, walking over to his friend and taking her hand. "I'm not the sort to say '_ I told you so'_ or any of that. I just wanted you to be alright. That's all I've ever wanted for you, you know. You are—you are alright, aren't you?" He inquired anxiously, watching her cheeks quiver.

"Not now, not yet. But I will be," she said. Her eyes were tinged red, and Al had a feeling it had taken her everything to hide her emotions from Gareth. "I slept with him, Al. I always told myself I wasn't going to be such an _imbecile_, letting other people walk all over me, but I was really just Devon's carpet. And now I feel like all of his footprints are on here," she gestured at her body, "And I can't wash them off."

Al squeezed her hand fiercely, feeling a white-hot knife of hatred slice through his heart for Devon Lynch at that very moment. "Have I mentioned that I'm going to beat his brains out?"

Carpathia choked out a laugh, and a tear slipped down the side of her cheek. "If you don't faint first."

Al responded to that tease with a serious look. "I have a few tricks up my sleeve, Nott, I'll have you know. I _am_ Slytherin's Quidditch Captain."

"Well that settles it then," she replied with a smile. A perturbed expression suddenly crossed over her features, and he knew that there was something on her mind.

"What is it?"

"I found a letter," she answered unexpectedly with a tremble in her voice.

"A what?"

With the hand that wasn't joined to his, she slipped into her pocket and withdrew a piece of folded parchment that has inked with a drawing of a black hand in its right hand corner. "I think he slipped it into my coat after we were…were done." She met Al's deadened look with bright eyes. "That's why I was out on the platform. I wasn't going to jump. I just wanted to read the letter somewhere quiet, and I was going to throw it out the moment I'd finished reading it so I could never think about Devon again."

"What did it say?" asked Al in low tones, glaring at the parchment so furiously that he hoped it would simply disintegrate before his eyes.

"I don't know," she admitted with a sardonic laugh. "I was standing out there for ages, deciding whether or not I should open it. But I couldn't do it." She paused. "I was hoping you would."

"Me?"

"Yes," she said slowly, handing him the parchment with shaking fingers. "I trust you more than anyone. If you tell me there's something to read, then I'll read it."

Her earnestness caused his anger to abate, and Al took the parchment silently with his fingers. She needed this, and he knew it.

"Alright," Al complied quietly. He unfolded the parchment and, feeling Carpathia's eyes on him, skimmed through the lines of delicate cursive:

_Dear Carpathia (I think you deserve to be called a better name than something I came up with on a whim) _

_You probably hate me. And you'd be right to do so. _

_I'm an arse beyond all imagining, worse than my father, who I always thought was the biggest arse in the world for leaving my mum. But I'm not really here to talk about me, more just to explain why I did what I did. _

_I do love you. Let me first say that before you throw this parchment away. I love you because in some ways you always saw me in a way that no one ever did. Perhaps it's because you, like me, never had anyone who truly loved you fully. I think you hoped that the two of us could be that person for each other, but that isn't how it works. You can't love someone who doesn't know how to love properly and you, Pegs, do really love people, much better than I do. You can love someone so much that it scares a bloke like me shitless. _

_So there it is, and I'm sorry. _

_I'm sorry I can't be that bloke for you. I'm sorry it took me until after we slept together that I realized it. I'm sorry I didn't tell you I got expelled because I was a bloody selfish fellow and I couldn't stand to have you look at me any differently. _

_Train's nearly at Longsborough now, so I haven't much time left to write this. I cast a sobering charm on you so that the effects of the drug would wear off faster. Didn't want you hurting your pretty self, Pegs. _

_I hope someday we'll meet in the future, and when you do finally end up with Albus Potter like you were always meant to, you'll know it was the right decision that I left. _

_I am truly, terribly sorry. _

_-Devon._

Al stared at the last several lines for a couple silent moments, and a turmoil of emotions gathered in the pit of stomach. He swallowed, trying to calm his insides down but to no avail. The hand that was holding Carpathia's suddenly felt very, very prominent.  
>"Anything worth reading?" inquired Carpathia with a tinge of anxiety, no doubt having noticed the change in Al's expressions.<p>

Al's eyes stayed fixated on the parchment for several long moments, his mind whirling with options on what to say. Isabel had been right. The confirmation was proof in front of him.

_Oh Al, you stupid fool. _The letter was about Devon, not him. Devon had been nothing but flat-out bastard for treating her the way he did and the letter only proved it. But here was Carpathia, stronger than ever. She was completely fine and absolutely extraordinary.

_She doesn't deserve to be hurt any more than this. _

He breathed, and tucked the parchment into his pocket without another second's hesitation. "No. Nothing that you don't already know."

Carpathia's eyes stayed on his to check for any uncertainties, but when he returned her gaze with a smile, she smiled back and embraced him. He held her then, inhaling the familiar scent that emanated from her soft black hair. She had always smelled like pepper and wood-oak, like an outlandish creature from the forest. It was something that had always been a constant in Al's life, and in that moment, he didn't want to let go.

But of course they had to when the train finally pulled into the station. Because no matter how much Al wanted to ensure that Carpathia would be fine, always, he could not watch her indeterminably. They promised to see each other over the summer, and Al made her swear that she would write him if she ever felt that she needed to talk about what happened.

With that last thought hanging between them, Al walked Carpathia to her brother's waiting figure and watched the two twins head over to their prim, stony-faced parents before he turned back to his own blissfully oblivious clan of redheads.

At the sight of his family, life instantly became normal again. There was no mention of drugs and lost virginities. James and Fred, still drunk from the train, got a good scolding from their parents but still managed to laugh it off rather raucously. Rose, despite her despondency on the train, was surprisingly chipper when she hugged Rowan goodbye and vowed to indeed get him the most "unbelievably unbelievable" present for his birthday in August.

And of course there was Isabel. Isabel, who could light up Al's world with just the mere sight of her walking towards him with a trunk in tow and a handshake to greet his parents with. Isabel, who Al finally introduced to Harry and Ginny Potter with a sheepish grin, which prompted his mother to wink in Al's direction. Isabel, who momentarily drove away all his concerns about Carpathia because he could not stop thinking about how perfect she was in that moment, despite the fact that she was blushing for an altogether different reason and the top two buttons of her blouse were still unbuttoned.

But the importance of those unbuttoned buttons were lost to Al, and it never occurred to him that life could never be perfectly at peace. If the train-ride had been any indication, they all still had a lot more growing up to do.

**AAA. **

**Sorry bout the lack of SM/RW action here, but I needed to edge in some development with the Carpathia/Devon relationship. I didn't plan to write him off so quickly but to be honest, I really grew to hate him even though he was an interesting character, and that relationship was going nowhere. **

**Loved Al in this one as well. Tried to be a hero, and failed. Miserably. Loved Carpathia as well, even though she is the victim of a lot of shit that seems to continuously keep happening to her. I'm trying to go further into Al and Carpathia's friendship. **

**Not my favorite chapter to write, but hey! Some interesting things happened, and what did you think of the clue-dropping at the end? **

**NEXT CHAPTER:**** Wanderings Through London. **

**Reviews appreciated! **

**Love, **

**Missuswitch **


	12. Wanders Through London: The Naked Child

**Chapter 12: Wanders Through London: The Naked Child **

**Sorry for the slight delay. I had a bit of a break in uni so life is all good, and updates will commence. **

**Wow, a slight surge in reviews since the last chapter. Thank you all for the compliments and constructive criticism. **

**To HoneyBadger7437 and MannyisdaBEST1—**

**I also have a deep hatred for Isabel, but unfortunately, she isn't going anywhere yet and there are still some surprises to turn over. **

**To Simplyecho, Alice Nicklen, and Stromsten—you are the ones who have consistently reviewed every couple chapters, so thanks for your continuously giving your feedback. It's been healthy to my writing esteem. **

**Anyhoo. To Chapter 12. **

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR; I just tinker-tanker. **

"_Good morning Londoners. This is the WWN and I'm Deanna Jones with the ten-o-clock news. Our top story of the hour: Ministry officials continue to conduct their investigations surrounding allegations of a Death-Eater retaliation supposed to occur synonymously with the 25__th__ memorandum of Albus Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. There has been no physical proof of such an event yet to occur, but several suspects have been taken into custody for further questioning and notable Death-Eater households are currently being searched for Dark objects and illicit magical materials. The sudden and unwarranted search is a source of much controversy amongst ex-veterans of the Dark Lord's War. _

_An anonymous witness quotes: "We ended the war twenty-five years ago. If they could not make Death-Eater arrests then, then they certainly should not be able to now. Ridiculous bouts of public paranoia are not sufficient enough grounds for the Ministry to violate privacy rights if there is no solid evidence. It is time for the Public Security Act to be abolished." _

_The Public Security Act, first proposed by renowned war heroine Hermione Granger-Weasley during the rebuilding of Wizengamot, constitutes the right for authorities to invade Death-Eater homes without official documentation…"_

"Look, there's mum's name on the radio again," said Hugo cheerfully, biting into his toast with a crunch.

Rose blinked, feeling herself returning to a state of normalcy. She promptly switched off the radio and resumed cutting her blueberry bagel into halves.

"Why do you do that? It's so weird," commented Hugo as Rose took her halved bagels and began smearing two different colored jams on each surface. "Bagels are meant to be eaten whole."

"And you're suddenly the expert on breakfast cuisine, are you?" replied Rose sardonically, "Pass the cereal."

Hugo silently handed her the rainbow colored box of Wizarding Cheerios, of which several loopy-looking pieces had struggled out of the box and were inching towards the edge of the table.

Rose gently collected the escapees into her hand and let them fall back into the box. "I meant the muggle one."

Hugo eyed the other cereal box at the end of the table with distaste. It was a simple, static box of corn flakes. "Why? They're so bland," he grumbled as he shoved the box towards her.

"_They_ don't try to crawl out of my bowl," answered Rose with a small hum as she spooned several unmoving flakes into her bowl. "No survivor's guilt."

Hugo popped several wriggling Wizarding cheerios gleefully into his mouth in response. "Ya might as well be a squib, Rosie."

"Oh, cornflakes? Lovely. It's been so long since I had any," interrupted Hermione Granger-Weasley breezily, sweeping by the table in a wave of cologne and taking the box with one hand. Rose tossed Hugo a smirk. "Where did you buy these, darling?"

"There's a Marks and Spencer's right down the street, mum."

"Is there? I hardly noticed," replied Hermione distractedly, chewing on the flakes with satisfaction and pulling out an official-looking document to scroll through at the same time.

"You hardly have time to sit down for breakfast anyway," pointed out Rose, noting the fact that her mum's graying hair was already pulled back into an office-bun and that already had grey slacks and suit jacket on. "Where to today?"

"Court," said Hermione with a dismissive wave, finally turning her attention towards Rose with crinkling, brown eyes.

"I thought you became a judge so that your life would be _less_ hectic."

"That was the plan, but with all the controversy going around about these Death-Eater household searches…sometimes, I do wish the Ministry would conduct their investigations _after_ my children have gone back to school." She sighed, stood up and paused to give Hugo a kiss on the cheek (to which Hugo uttered an indignant yelp). "Do give your father my best, will you? And leave him some breakfast. He was up late drinking with Harry and Charlie again."

She slipped the Ministry document back into a black, leather bag and then slung it over her shoulders with a small grunt. "Any plans for today, Rosie dear?"

Rose exhaled, trying not to sound too exasperated with her mother's scattered memory. "Yes, actually."

"Oh? With whom?"

"Just a couple people I like to call David and Moira Granger. Remember them? I think you know them as 'mum and dad.'"

"Oh, that was today?" answered Hermione, barely catching onto Rose's sarcasm. She smiled at her daughter. "Well, that's awfully nice of you, dear. They haven't seen you or Hugo in awhile. Do send them my love."

"And give them your best, right?"

But Hermione's mind was already elsewhere and she didn't answer. That brilliant, press-worthy mind, whirring and ticking over new ways to save the world no doubt. Rose and Hugo watched their mother put on her shoes and head for the door as the children had countless of times in their lives.

Right before Hermione walked out, a thought suddenly occurred to Rose and she called out: "Mum? Why don't you just abolish the act?"

At the sound of her daughter's voice, Hermione poked her head back through the door wearing a perplexed expression. "What act?"

"The Public Security Act," elaborated Rose, turning over her spoon in her cereal bowl contemplatively. "You know, so that the Ministry stops ransacking innocent people's homes." _Like the Malfoys_. The thought slipped into her mind before she could have the chance to weed it out.

"Is that what the radio was going on about?" Hermione replied with a frown settling on her features. She pondered over this for several silent moments, and then exhaled and responded with a curt: "It's complicated, Rose."

The answer was rather disappointing to Rose, who had expected something a lot more in-depth coming from her mother. But then again, Hermione was never good with divulging her past, or divulging anything that didn't have to do with her work. The elderly woman disappeared, and the door shut behind her with a firm clunk.

After Rose had finished her bowl of cereal, she hopped off her stool and tousled her brother's hair. "Well, I'm off to go change now. Wash the dishes."

"Bloody _hell_ I will!" exclaimed Hugo in protestation.

Rose raised her eyebrows at his outburst and he flushed. "I'll tell you the fast way of doing it."

Hugo's eyes widened. "Mum says we ought to do them by hand."

"Mum's not here."

Hugo was silent. A fair point.

Rose tapped his wand, which was lying beside his fork. "Just stack up the plates, point, and say _virastalis_. If you drop anything, use a Reparo charm. But don't drop anything," she added with a stern glare.

With that, she retreated up the stairs two at a time towards her room. She slipped into a comfortable navy-blue sleeveless top and jean shorts. The weather was remarkably beautiful for London standards, and she wanted to enjoy the summer sun while it lasted. Before leaving the room, she paused and swiped a packet of Mint Mice from her desk. Her grandparents, despite being dentists, loved sweets beyond imagining.

When she arrived back in the kitchen, the dishes were neatly piled beside the sink and her father was sitting at the table. Rose smiled at this familiar sight, wondering when Ron Weasley was ever going to stop looking the picture of home to her.

As usual, his faded red hair was mussed about his head in a weary mess and he was wearing a bathrobe, a pin-striped one barely covered his rotund stomach.

"Oh hello dad, you're awake," greeted Rose, skipping towards the kitchen countertop to pour herself a mug of tea into her thermos. "Had fun last night with Uncle Harry and Uncle George?"

Ron offered her a tired smile in response and sipped his coffee. "Where you off to, Rosie?"

"Grandpa and Grandma Grangers'," she responded, capping her thermos and stepping over to kiss him swiftly on the cheek.

The kiss seemed to liven him up significantly. "Oh yes, now I remember. How are you getting back?"

"I'm meeting Al at Leicester, if he hasn't forgotten. But in the case he does forget, I'll just wait for a cute muggle boy with a bitchin' motorbike to stop by and hop on," said Rose, her grin dropping at Ron's alarmed expression. "Only joking, dad. I'll see you tonight for dinner."

"Bloody better be joking," grumbled Ron, "Hang on, why isn't Al going with you to begin with? Your grandparents love him."

Rose shrugged. "How should I know, dad? I've barely seen him this summer. Isabel's over at his place all the bloody time."

Ron snorted into his coffee. "Right. That Harry mentioned." He continued chuckling to himself, no doubt over something he had discussed with his drinking partners last night, and Rose rolled her eyes affectionately.

"Well, I ought to be off." He nodded his consent and she walked towards the door, pausing momentarily to add: "Before I forget, mum asked me to give you '_her best'_, quote unquote."

"Don't be snarky. She's got a lot on her plate," she heard her father call to her before she turned the doorknob and walked out from her cozy, magic-ridden flat into the streets of muggle London.

AAA.

It was five weeks and four days after the train-ride back to King's Cross that Al finally had a chance to meet up with Carpathia over the holiday. After returning from a two-week vacation in Monaco, Al had spent the remaining time entertaining Isabel, who seemed to have developed a sudden penchant for dropping by the Potter residence without notice. While Al was certainly taken aback and flattered by his girlfriend's spurt of affection, he found it strangely relieving to take some time off when Carpathia finally replied to his many owls with a simple, brief letter that read:

"_Al, _

_Sorry for the delay; it's been mental lately around the house. Meet me outside Camden Town Station at 2:00 tomorrow afternoon. I'd like to take you to one of my favorite places. _

_Don't be late._

–_Thia." _

Al, who had little to no experience with traveling around muggle London, had promptly phoned Rose to ask her quickly how to get there.

"Oh, that's easy. Just take the tube," she'd replied. He could've practically heard her rolling her eyes.

"What's that?" he'd asked.  
>"The tube—god, the <em>subway. <em>You know, an underground train that muggles use to get around to places? Honestly, Al, you're so dense I wonder how we're even related. How is it that a girl from an old pureblood family knows how to get around London better than you do?"

"Stuff it. Will _you_ be out tomorrow by any chance?"

"Finally have time for me now, do you? I was actually going to go see Granddad and Grandmum Granger. Shall we meet afterwards? I've got to pick up a present for Rowan's birthday somewhere downtown anyway."

"Er, yeah. Sure. Where?"

"Leicester Square, five'o'clock. If you don't know where that is, ask Carpathia." And with that, she had hung up.

The next morning, after consulting his father on how exactly to ride the tube and pocketing several maps into his jeans, Al set off on the arduous task of mastering London's public transportation system. When he finally reached Camden station he was fifteen minutes late, but thankfully, Carpathia didn't seem in the least irritated.

"Goodness. How hard is it to ride the tube?" she inquired amusedly. She hopped off the ledge she'd been sitting on and greeted him with a cheerful hug.

Al opened his mouth to explain his tardiness, but his words were drowned out when his eyes registered the little changes in his friend. She seemed, for a lack of a better word, _healthier_. There was a flush in her cheeks, and the deep eye circles brought on by smoking and lack of sleep had faded away. Even more noticeably, her hair was no longer a complete inky-black. There were two thin streaks of deep blue and magenta lying side-by-side that fell from the right side of her head and curved around her cheeks. They complimented the new rosiness in her cheeks quite nicely.

"You look great," he replied with a genuine grin. "Like the new hair."

Carpathia shot him a sideways look. "Really? I thought you hated me dyeing my hair."

"I never said that." _I said that?_

"I seem to recall a certain redheaded gent declaring that dyed hair was unnatural and unattractive."

"Your memory seems to be faulty, Nott. Need a check-up at St. Mungo's?" Al replied a matter-of-factly, knocking the side of her head teasingly. She withdrew away from his reach and stuck her tongue out at him.

"_You _were the one that said we would see each other soon after the year ended, and it's been how many weeks? Six? Who's the one with brain damage now?"

Al opened his mouth immediately to apologize, but to his relief, she was smiling in a fairly good-natured manner.

"Cor, I'm an awful friend," he admitted abashedly, slinging his arm around her shoulder. "I tried to owl you to check if you were alright when I heard about the Ministry searches, but Dad said it was better not to. He said they'd be censoring your mail, so I thought I'd ask you in person instead."

Carpathia flashed him a small, twitching smile. "So ask."

"How you been, then? Since…since that all happened?"

"At this moment, I'm wonderful," she replied resolutely, tugging on the arm he had around her shoulders in a cheerful manner.

"Not just about the Ministry, Thia. I meant about…y'know, _him_, as well."

"I'm fine."

When he looked at her with slight disbelief she pressed on. "Really, Al, I am. I can't say it hasn't been difficult. I almost wrote him a couple times, but now…now I almost don't think of him at all. There are other more important things at hand."

She paused. "You owl was a bloody life-saver. I finally got to leave that suffocating house. Ever since the Ministry took Father away for questioning, Mother's been driving Gareth and I mad over behaving ourselves, which means as little public exposure as possible." Her mouth twisted wryly. "Though if it's a good public image she wants, I don't think she'd mind me spending more time with a Potter."

Al let out a frustrated puff of air through his lips. He squeezed her shoulder a little too tightly, causing her to wince slightly. "Mental. They can't think your father's the sort to plan a terrorist attack."

"Father's just always been a bit…vocal about his anti-sentiments," replied Carpathia with a contemplative sigh. "Never tried to fit into regular society, either. Not like the Malfoys did."

"Dad's putting in a good word for the Notts in the Auror department," Al told her quietly, "Hopefully, they'll let him out soon."

"Merlin, Al. You shouldn't have."

" 'course I would've, Thia."

Carpathia let the smile on her face linger briefly before smacking him on the arm.

"Ow!" he yelped.

"What you _should_ have done was owl me a couple weeks after term ended, you twat."

"I meant to! I swear…I've just been…" Al paused for several moments, and his good-natured grin twisted into a grimace. "Held up."

Carpathia raised her eyebrows at his off-beat tone. "Oh dear. I thought paradise was trouble-free."

"Well, don't get me wrong, Izzie's still brilliant and all. I never thought I'd have to say this…" he smiled sheepishly, and lowered his voice to frantic whisper. "She's around _all _the _bloody time_."

Carpathia snorted and a smile tugged at her lips. "So she's finally let you cop a feel, then?"

"What—how do you—does _everybody_ know?"

Carpathia shrugged. "They call you Virgin Potter in the girls' dormitories."

"Oh." After a beat, he grimaced. "Bugger. What do they call James?"

Carpathia rolled her eyes. "The Hotter Potter."

"_Bugger._"

"It used to be James Potter the Shaggable, if that helps."

"Ugh. Kill me."

"Mm-hmm." She nudged him then, looking at him slyly from under her lashes. "So have you then?"

"Have I what?"

Carpathia smacked his arm and replied sarcastically, "Oh sorry was I not clear enough? My question was: have you bought your rocking chair yet-you know, the one you're going to spend the rest of your life sitting _alone_ in?"

"When did _you_ suddenly become so feisty?" asked Al teasingly, feigning shock. He conceded to her somewhat exasperated expression and said rather awkwardly: "Er, well, since Isabel's been coming 'round the house a lot, I've got to say that there has been a lot more, erm, stuff happening."  
>"'Stuff happening'," quoted Carpathia amusedly. "And it's been good?"<p>

"It's been," Al paused. "Intriguing."

"Goodness, you're practically screaming in excitement."

"I just…" Al ran his hands through his red-brown hair in agitation, and stopped in the middle of the street, prompting a heavy-set woman behind him to grunt in irritation and side-step around the two of them. "I don't think she's as, ah, _intrigued_ as I am."

"How so?"

Al flashed her a quick look to see if he had gauged a reaction, but her voice was deceptively neutral.

"I dunno if you want to hear this, Thia, I mean it's quite private-"

"I can handle it," interrupted Carpathia with a roll of her eyes.

"Right." He coughed and rubbed his hands in anticipation. "So there was this one time when James finally left the two of us alone after what seemed like _ages_, and the two of us were sitting on the couch snogging. Like normal, y'know? And I dunno why, but I was feeling particularly up for it, so then I…" He shifted uncomfortably, and then leaned into Carpathia's ear and proceeded to whisper something that made her eyebrows shoot up.

"Oh," Carpathia uttered in realization, her cheeks turning pink as well. "Merlin, Al."

"_Right_?" exclaimed Al in frustration, drawing away from her ear when she winced a little at his heightened volume. "Sorry. But, honestly, I thought that would work!"

"That's got to be rough."

"Two years! We've been going out for two years," said Al miserably, "I know she's not saving herself or anything, because when we first started dating she kept making passes, only back then _I _wasn't ready," his mouth twitched slightly at the irony. "And I know she fancies me enough because why else would she come visit me and my family all summer?" he exhaled when Carpathia said nothing. "Which leaves the option that I'm absolute shit at it. That, or she's got male parts."

He stuffed his hands into his pockets and grumbled forlornly: "Can't decide which option's better."

"You ought to ask her before you jump to conclusions."

"Yeah…" he let his voice trail off. "You don't—you don't think it's because I'm absolute shit, do you?"

"Al, I…" Carpathia hesitated and started to laugh at the absurdity of this conversation. "If you did what you said you did, you're most certainly not absolute shit. At least," she amended herself, her lips curving into a smile. "Not from my experience."

Before he could comment, she gently took his arm and steered him around the corner. "Come on, we're going to be late for my appointment."

"Where are we going?"

Carpathia's mouth curved into a mysterious smile. "You'll see."

The surroundings around Camden Station was a frantic haze of spices and exotic smells. People dressed in vivacious colors and speaking a variety of different tongues jostled past Al, who recognized Hindi and Farsi among them. Despite the fact that she was an oddity in her dark clothes, Carpathia seemed completely at home in this energetic marketplace. She weaved through the throngs of people with ease, even stopping to say hello to several who passed by.

They rounded into a small alley and stopped in front of an old-fashioned, charmingly lit shop with the sign hanging over it: "_The Naked Child"_. Before Al could make a comment on how blatantly weird the shop's name was, Carpathia had stepped inside and yanked him along.

The inside of the shop was a complete contrast to its 17th- century English exterior. Incense candles burned in every direction and translucent cloth hung from the ceiling like it was a fortune-teller's tent. A soothing tune vocalized by a woman in a foreign tongue emanated from crackling speakers. But more importantly, there were pictures. Black-and-white or colorful, images of animals, people, words. They were plastered all over the walls.

"What-" Al began, then his eyes focused on a small work station in the middle of the room. It was a beautiful mahogany desk, but on it, were needles. A whole lot of needles. "Thia, your favorite place is a _tattoo parlour?_"

"Oho. Do mine ears deceive me or is there a prudish gent in the room?" a female voice sang across the room, and from behind one of the translucent veils a brown-skinned woman stepped out. She seemed to be in her mid-twenties and her black hair stood up in tufts around her head. There was a bright golden ring glittering in her nose.

She gazed at Al up and down, and he tried to keep his eyes away from her bare mid-rift. Her eyes, which were almost buried under the heavy lines of black kohl, crinkled into amusement. "He's a cute fella. Yours?"

"Not," acknowledged Carpathia with a slight flush of her cheeks. She turned and nudged Al, who looked flabbergasted: "Silky likes redheads. Boys _and_ girls, much to her girlfriend's annoyance."

"Tina's a blonde, bless her heart," sighed Silky, grinning in a slightly predatory way towards Al.

"Your name's Silky?" repeated Al, who appreciated the irony of calling a woman who seemed to prefer wearing metal over cloth an appellation that had do with fabric.

"Actually, its Salika Chattopadhyay, but that's a bloody mouthful, isn't it?" The woman headed briskly towards the work-table and ran her fingers over the needles. "So where will you be inking today? I hear crotches are all the rage nowadays." She winked at him.

Al instinctively placed his hands protectively over his trousers. "Ah, er, I'm not-"

"Al's just here to watch, Silky," interrupted Carpathia with a knowing smile.

The woman turned towards her and nodded, casting Al a slightly disappointed glance.

"Gotcha, little C. How did you like the last one I gave you? No problems with the birdie?"

"No, not a bit. You're an artist."

"How many tattoos do you have Thia?" demanded Al, looking shocked.

"Not enough," sang Silky again, pulling out a maroon, puffy armchair from behind one of the veils.

Carpathia took off her jacket, exposing her ivory arms and a slim black tank-top. "Small of my back, third and fourth vertebrae, in between the shoulder bones."

Silky pursed her lips into a speculative smile, and reclined the arm chair so that it was in a completely straight-line. "Hmm, a personal spot. Are you using a design of mine or did you bring your own again?"

Carpathia reached into her pocket and pulled out a slip of paper, handing it to Silky before Al could see what was on it. The tattoo artist's eyes ran over the slip of parchment, and her lips curled. "Interesting. Do tell me the story behind this one sometime." She clucked her tongue. "Well, ya know the drill. Face-down, top-off." Her eyes fluttered towards Al for a brief second. "He doesn't mind, does he?"

It took several moments for Al to fully register Silky's words, and all of a sudden, his hands felt clammy and it was as if his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. "What? Do you mean—I'm gonna see, um—gah," he finished with his mouth hanging open.

"Oh god, that's not what I had in mind when I said '_watching_'," interjected Carpathia quickly, "Maybe he could go behind the curtains."

The woman snorted. "Christ, it's just her bare back. No _breasts_ or anything." Al stood, staring at Carpathia with a rather shell-shocked expression. And rightly so. This was taking their friendship to a whole new level.

"I, erm-"

"Look, you're awfully adorable with the whole naïve schoolboy persona, but it can really dampen the whole ambiance of this place." Silky waved her hands around at her surroundings quite dramatically. "Forget about the fact that she's taking off her clothes. It's not about her showing skin, it's about her expressing her nakedness in a way that lets people like _you,_ dear boy, know who she really is." Silky crossed her arms, and gestured for Al to take a seat on the stool next to the reclined chair. Slowly, he sank downwards in compliance, and she continued while staring at him with a smoky, intense gaze. "My mum used to say that a naked child was the bravest person in the world. Why? 'Cause they don't have any inhibitions. They run around outside mucking about, unmolded by anyone, unafraid to be who they are. That is why," she pointed at the wooden sign with the clearly emblazoned words '_The Naked Child'_ hanging outside the shop. "Blammo. Only the brave come in here."

"Nobody should mold who you are," echoed Carpathia, sharing a brief smile with Silky, and Al realized where the sentiment he'd heard for years and years had originated from.

"That's right," nodded Silky with a pleased look on her face. She threw Al a sharp glance. "Y'know, Red, it completely boggles me that you've never seen little C's tattoos. How long you two been going out again?"

"We're friends," corrected Al quietly.

"Psht, _such_ an ambiguous label," dismissed Silky. She began examining the tools on her work-desk, "Well, at any rate, you ought to know why people you care about like to poke themselves with needles."

Al gazed at Carpathia's guilty expression and for some reason he suddenly found the whole situation ridiculously comical. Of course, he'd end up in a scenario he completely wouldn't have imagined himself in except in the company of Carpathia. The whole thing was insane, but at the same time, _so_ predictable. It's not like he'd left the house this morning expecting that the two of them would be going out having coffee and scones.

"Okay, then. In the name of art, right?" he shrugged in a half-resigned, half-amused manner. His nonchalance made Carpathia's eyebrow quirk in confusion, but nevertheless, she turned towards Silky for confirmation.

"Right, then. Hurry up, I haven't got all day."

She hesitated a little awkwardly at first. But this was Carpathia—who never hesitated for long—and so in one swift motion, her black top slipped off over the her head. Her back was slender and elegantly curved, like the neck of a swan. Al's eyes darted down before he could look any further, but his throat bobbed agitatedly as his mind fixated on what he'd just seen.

_It's not my fault_, he told himself wryly…she'd kept herself hidden under layers of dark clothing all those years, and now to suddenly be exposed and have all that assaulting his visual system at once…god, any male would have the same response.

When she unstrapped her bra and hooked it on the edge of the chair, he thought his heart was pounding so fast that his brain might explode, but to his immense relief, she lay face-down on the reclining chair like Silky had instructed. After several passing moments, Al dared himself to look up again at his best friend and saw only her exposed back and the back of her dark hair as she faced downward.

_It's nothing. It's like looking at Rose in a two-piece swimsuit. She's like family. That's all. _

The anxiety faded away, his breathing slowed to normal, and it was then when his eyes registered the inked lines curved on her flawless ivory skin, composing several images that he had never seen before.

_Her tattoos. _

He leaned forward and his finger grazed the largest one, an image of the Gryffindor lion comprised of black lines perched on her shoulder joint. Carpathia reacted to his touch, and he withdrew his hand.

"Gryffindor?" he inquired quietly, sensing Silky's silent but avid interest in their conversation as the woman prepped her needle.

"It was the first time I realized I had something to offer that had nothing to do with my past," she replied, her voice slightly muffled by the plush leather seat. "When you ink something…every placement on your body matters. The right shoulder symbolizes a guiding force, and that's what the lion became. It drove me to become brave."

Al looked at the Gryffindor lion's gaping mouth and smiled to himself. It wasn't quite like something he could sympathize with, but it was similar. He, too, had realized that there was more to offer than what his family knew of.

On a symmetrical plane with the first tattoo, a second tattoo was inked on Carpathia's left shoulder. The image was of a sword wrapped in a shawl. The sword had the letter 'N' etched on its blade.

Al didn't touch; he just looked. "The Nott family crest?"

He heard her laugh from the folds of the chair. "A direct contrast, I know, but a necessary one. The left shoulder represents an anchor, to remind you of your roots and origins." Carpathia's voice was taking on a softer quality now, as though she were falling asleep. "My family will always be important to me, no matter how much we might drift apart. It pulls me back when I feel myself floating away too far."

Al's eyes trailed down to her waist, and-just barely above the hem of her trousers—he saw the smallest tattoo of them yet. It was the silhouette of a dragon, completely inked out in black and barely visible. Long and elegant, it possessed a long flowing tail that curled around her hip and disappeared.

"What does this one mean?" Al asked, his voice barely above a breath. The image was quite mesmerizing for some reason.

"Oh, that was the last one she got done," said Silky breezily.

"Thia?"

"It was…" she paused and fell silent. Al watched her back sink and rise with her breathing. "It was the first time I fell in love."

She offered no elaboration. The silence in the room was filled by the soothing soundtrack in the background and Silky's faint humming. Al stared at the little dragon on Carpathia's hip, a memory stirring in his mind.

Somehow, he knew—deep down—that image had nothing to do with Devon.

"So what d'ya think about tattoos now, schoolboy?" prodded Silky with a cheeky smile, pulling him out of his reverie.

Al pondered on how to answer her question. _It must be nice to have a map of your life like that and to be able to see it in the mirror every day_.

And it was. Even now, he wondered why Carpathia had chosen him—the naïve redhead—to be her friend, why she could be so outlandish while he was so timid. Now he had an idea what their friendship truly offered, how they could teach one another how to live life.

He'd never thought it would be so, but the sharp permanence of black ink, the woody scent of incense in the shop and the images carved on flawless, porcelain skin was something that he would remember, as vivid as the breeze on the day of a Quidditch match or the smells of a cauldron.

"It's brilliant," the honest statement slipped out of his mouth without control.

"I told you he was a cool bloke," remarked Carpathia from the chair. The words were directed at Silky, and the older woman grinned.

AAA.

When Scorpius burst out the front doors of Malfoy Manor, rain was falling thickly from the skies.

_Typical_, he spat at the weather-gods as the drops fell in large chaotic splatters on his dusky grey shirt. _Just when I've decided to opt for fresh air instead of this bloody hell-hole, London decides to turn on me. _

He could still hear his mother's shrill warning echoing behind him:

"_Don't you dare leave this house, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy!"_

Livia Malfoy had a handle on words. She was an imperious woman, with curly dark hair and knife-like eyes that could stare down any man in her path. Her keen sense of self-pride and her temper flares were what had prompted Draco Malfoy to fall in love with her, but they were clearly not traits that had been working well for their marriage lately.

So far, Scorpius was the only one who had ever dared to defy her. He knew how to use his mother's scarce emotional range to his advantage, having antagonized on countless occasions when he was child, though he'd tried to do so less and less as he grew older. Lately, however, her crazy measures in trying to keep him in the manor ever since the Ministry had announced their investigation plans were pushing him over the edge.

He hadn't seen a single soul since term had ended. He hadn't even set foot once in Diagon Alley. The only scrap of communication he had entertained was a brief interaction with Gareth, in which he'd written him, asking:

_Dear Gareth, _

_Being kept prisoner at the moment, thanks to the prime efficiency of our government. How are you? _

_-Scorpius _

And then Gareth had replied:

_Same on my end. Good luck. _

On the day the Ministry cars had pulled up outside the manor, Scorpius had had the last straw. He was _not_ going to sit around brooding like a wretched sod and watch well-dressed pricks take away his prized possessions like they had last time, waiting for the Ministry to generate the verdict for his family. He was going to get out of this fucking house, and he didn't care who stopped him.

"Ah, hello! Excuse me! Where do you think you're going?" A female voice called out from behind him.

He turned and registered quite a good-looking woman in her forties trudging towards him clumsily in black heels. She had long brown hair that was pinned back with an emerald barette, and a sharp, clever face. Scorpius realized with surprise that he recognized this Ministry official, though this realization immediately cooled down when he saw that she was holding up her badge and seemed to have every intention on slowing his progress.

"Scorpius, is it? I don't know if you remember me, but your father and I consider each other close friends-" she began in a friendly tone. She had a clipboard and pen by her side.

"Really? Would you consider the two of you close enough _friends_ that you'd mind leaving our household possessions alone?" interrupted Scorpius bitingly. "And it's Mr. Malfoy to you, if you don't mind."

The woman exhaled and the pen clicked and unclicked once. "I don't like this anymore than you do, but it's my job and unfortunately, I was delegated to Malfoy Manor. I promise you, however, that if you're willing enough to cooperate with procedures then the Ministry will be out of your hair as soon as possible."

"You know this isn't just all about procedure, don't you?" replied Scorpius, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "You're ruining lives here. You take and take, and you don't realize what you're doing to families like mine. My parents-" he stopped himself before he could utter another word. _My parents aren't very nearly my parents anymore, _he'd been about to say.

The woman was regarding him with a drawn, sympathetic expression, and Scorpius wondered whether the Aurors had sent her on purpose because she had close ties to the Malfoys. Psychological warfare. He wouldn't put it past them.

"You do look so much like Draco," she started, her voice soft with reminiscence. "The face, the mouth, the same intensity…but you've got your mother's eyes, you know? Such lovely blue eyes."

"Don't _pretend_, Ms. Greengrass," snarled Scorpius before he could help it, and he stalked off in the opposite direction. "You might have been friends with my father once, and he might have cared enough to invite you to a few of my birthday parties, but you're not welcome here anymore. Finish your business and leave. Meanwhile, I'm going to go tour London."

Ms. Greengrass paused, her forehead crinkled in disturbance. "I don't think that's wise."

"Why? Afraid I'm going to kick every puppy that stands my way? Hex every muggle in the kilometer-radius?"

"I would simply suggest waiting until Ministry officials have left the premises. They would prefer having the entire family onsite while the search is ongoing."

"Go fuck yourself."

There was a triumphant pause as Scorpius continued stalking through the tall grass towards the iron-wrought gate. He whispered the security unlocking spell and heard a screech as the metal scraped against one another to signal the doors opening.

"Mr. Malfoy, you are _not_ authorized to leave." There was a now sharp edge to the Ministry official's tone.

Scorpius took a deep breath and turned towards the woman with a calm, icy expression. "Actually, I am. According to clause nine under the Public Securities Act, Sub-text Four in '_Special Notifications'_, the Ministry is not allowed to hold minors during unwarranted investigations since individuals below the age of seventeen do not possess ownership of such homes being investigated nor can they claim items that may be stored therein, and thus are deemed unassociated with any suspected activity at hand." He watched her absorb the words with satisfaction. "Quote, unquote."

She said nothing, and he took that to mean her assent. He slid past the gap in the gates and murmured the locking spell, watching withtwisted pleasure as the bars slid over the space between him and his home.

"One more thing,_ Astoria_," he added with barely concealed animosity. "My father has missed your company these last couple years. Do drop by and give him your regards—that is, if your colleagues haven't already taken him away for questioning."

And, after just catching the barest flicker of pain across the woman's face, Scorpius departed.

He strode off with a desperate, angry haze, not really paying attention to where he was going, until the pastoral green meadows of the endless Malfoy grounds had faded away into stone and concrete, and passersby were no longer donning long wizarding robes but instead wearing simple Muggle attire. Scorpius blinked, suddenly registering the abrupt change in the world around him, and then realized that somewhere along the way he had crossed over the barrier from wizarding to muggle London. This was hardly uncommon, since many ancient pureblood families had conjured up extremely powerful methods in concealing their expansive estates in 'pocket spaces' within muggle society. The only problem was that he was now standing on crooked pavement of what seemed to be an obscure, quiet muggle street, with no idea how he'd gotten there and where to head next.

"Shit," Scorpius muttered.

The rain began to fall even heavier, and it wasn't long before his hair was slicked down on the sides of his face and rainwater was trickling down in rivulets down his face. He rounded the corner hurriedly, keeping his head down as a pair of muggle teenagers giggled at the sight of his flashy wizarding robes. Exhaling to himself, Scorpius halted in his tracks and took off the robes, stuffing them into the nearest trash disposal he saw.

_Never did like them much anyway. _

He was near a park, that was for certain, and the area he was in was certainly rather upscale London. Even his parents knew how to be incognito in style.

"Excuse me, sir, have you come to visit the park?" a woman in official uniform stepped towards him, reminding him scarily of Astoria Greengrass, and he backed away.

"No, not me," he replied, shaking his head. He could see past the woman into the entrance of the park and glimpsed a row of trees and a beautifully planted set of orchids. It must have been quite a tourist attraction. "Actually, do you happen to know where the nearest means of transport is?"

The woman's nose wrinkled in confusion at his choice of words. "Er, do you mean the bus station? That's just down the road, at the crossroad of King's and St. James's."

Scorpius had no idea what the terms meant, but he simply followed the direction of the woman's finger. Before long, he was at a somewhat busier street aligned with multiple shopping malls, and a bright red, double-decker bus was coasting towards him.

_Oh good, a seat at last. _

Feeling cold, weary, and extremely wet, he stepped onto the bus and headed for the back row. When the bus took off, he felt a slight panic in his ribs when he realized he was altogether quite lost, but then it was swallowed by a strange sense of mad _glee_ that he couldn't be bothered to care. He'd never been much of a believer in fate, but perhaps it was time to just bloody let go of everything and let life take the mickey on him.

And fifteen minutes into the bus-ride, fate responded just as he was contemplating it. For when the bus made its usual round near Oxford Circus and halted, Scorpius saw the unmistakable sunset hair of Rose Weasley ascend the steps of the bus and make her way through the other passengers and thought life was playing a very cruel trick indeed.

AAA.

Rose had been determined to spend her entire summer not thinking about Scorpius Malfoy, and it was succeeding with surprising ease. She'd dedicated loads of her time to exploring muggle London to the point of expertise, maintaining a firm correspondence with Rowan and Drew, and occasionally meeting the cute muggle boy here and there. It was a combination of these experiences and her last memory of Scorpius on the Hogwarts Express, in which the blatant tongue-action with Chantal had showcased the fact that they were still going strong, that made her realize that life was simply going to place itself back on track whether she liked it or not.

And yes, this was preferable. It was much less troublesome to occupy her mind on visiting her wonderful, sweet muggle grandparents than fixating (or god forbid, _worrying_) on what Scorpius might be doing now, especially since his family was linked to the current news.

But then, of course, she'd gotten on the bus that was meant to take her to the Grangers', and he was just…_there_.

At first, her eyes couldn't believe it. Scorpius Malfoy, pureblood spendthrift, idling away on the _muggle public bus? _And there was also the issue that he was soaked through, no doubt from the rain, but Rose's mind immediately flashed back to that memory on the lake because his hair had been slicked downwards the exact same way it was doing now, and because he'd been also been wearing the same shade of grey…

_Oh my god, get a grip. He's here. _Here.

He seemed just as equally shocked as she was, but the words that fell out of his mouth dripped with sarcasm. "Oh, of course."

Rose found her voice with a stammer. "What do you mean, _of course_? You don't—how did you—_what_?"

The bus jerked forward and she stumbled, promptly reminding her that she was still on a moving vehicle. She fumbled for the closest seat, which happened to be the one right across from Scorpius and sat with her heart hammering in her chest.

_Why is this happening? _

She closed her eyes, and then reopened them with a newfound bite in her words. "Are you stalking me, Malfoy?"

"Did you want me to?" replied Scorpius with a smirk.

"Why are you taking public transportation? Have you even _heard_ of public transportation?"

"No you're right. I'm Scorpius Malfoy and I'm fabulously wealthy and I only travel in a carriage pulled by thorough-bred Byerley Turk stallions," answered Scorpius with an odd burst of irritation. "Is it so hard to believe that I simply felt like riding the bus today—y'know, for perks?"

Rose rolled her eyes. "Where are you headed?"

"Nowhere. I can't get off. I don't have any muggle money to pay the toll." He flashed her a charming half-smile. "I suppose I should have thought of that before I got on."

"You're an idiot."

"This is actually going to squeeze some life out of my soul, but do you have any money I could borrow?"

Rose said nothing. _Better that he gets off the bus earlier so that I can be left alone. _She handed him two pounds, of which he regarded with interest.

"There. You can get off at the next stop and then double-back with the bus across the road."

"Nonsense. I'm not leaving, now that I've got company." He sounded much more cheerful now, much to Rose's puzzlement.

"Oh, so now you want sparkling conversation," she said quietly. "Well, I don't have anything to say to you."

She didn't want to look at his face, not at those clear blue eyes or those finely sculpted lips, which had plagued her thoughts incessantly at the end of last year and caused her so much unwanted confusion. She didn't want to hear that voice, because the last time she had heard him speak to her this way when they were alone, he had been so witty and genuine and funny and…well, he had driven her insane.

"Incidentally, Weasley, where are _you_ off to?"

She clamped her mouth shut and refused to reply, choosing instead to shoot him a glare and reach into her bag for her headphones. She clamped them over her ears and plugged the cord into the iPod her mother had purchased for her the previous year, blasting the first song that came up on shuffle.

Scorpius' cheerful expression faded into surprise when he seemed to realize that for the first time, she had chosen not to engage in their usual back-and-forth banter. This, it seemed, was a far worse insult than anything she had ever thrown at him.

"Fine." He shrugged, his eyes glazing over with cold nonchalance, and then faced the other way.

The next ten minutes into the journey Rose kept her eyes trained on the window outside, opting to look at passing architecture and occasional trees instead of the maddeningly calm boy next to her. But his mere presence was upsetting, and her mind was unable to stop itself from whirling back.

_I damn well won't leave without leaving you something to remember_.

The words were engrained in her mind, as well as the actions that had followed. When he had taken her face into his hands and gazed at her like she was the last person on the planet...

She could still remember the feeling of his lips on hers, even now, not just the physical shape of his mouth but the tidal wave of emotions. That mingled feeling of ludicrousness and—strangely—_relief_, like he was an entity that she'd been missing all her life and had suddenly been recovered back.

_I'll be Malfoy and you'll be Weasley again. _

How could he not remember? It was a moment that had touched her soul so ardently that she knew that no matter how much she convinced herself that he was a prick, Scorpius would still be able to look at her and make her heart feel so naked that she might as well have been on an operating table.

The bus screeched to a stop, and Rose realized from the windows that she had reached the station closest to her grandparents' house. Quickly, she stuffed her headphones into her bag and got up out of her seat, her face burning when she felt Scorpius' eyes tailing her.

"Sorry," she murmured to the conductor, who tapped his foot impatiently at her when she passed him on her way down the bus steps.

She hurried down the pavement, her feet clattering against the stone, and it was only a block away from the Granger residence that she realized that there was an echo behind her. She turned and her heart jumped in alarm when she saw him standing there, barely five meters behind her, his hands stuffed in his pockets and wearing an amused expression.

"_Flippin'_ hell," she exclaimed, clutching her chest. "What in Merlin's name are you doing? Are you _following_ me?"

"You got off the bus without saying goodbye," stated Scorpius simply. "That was quite rude."

"_Rude_? That's rich. This is just downright creepy."

"I thought girls found it flattering when blokes paid their whereabouts more attention. Chantal would have snogged me half to death by now."

"Chantal…well, news-flash, Malfoy: not every girl is like your girlfriend. Oh, here's a thought. Why don't you get back on the bus and take it to where _she_ lives?"

"Eh," he waved his hand dismissively in response, and his eyes retreated upwards towards the slightly dilapidated buildings. "So this is where you live?" His tone perked up in interest. "How…rustic."

"I'm visiting my grandparents," Rose snapped, "My muggle ones. They're very nice people who like to bake cookies and prefer not to be turned into teacups by irritating purebloods who can't take a hint."

"Teacups? Hardly. I would at least opt for a living creature," commented Scorpius lazily. Rose drew her wand out with dangerous calm. "Leave, Malfoy, before I hex your arse halfway across Scotland."

Scorpius eyed her wand and folded his arms. "That's underage magic."

"Well, when the Ministry hears my explanation, I'm sure they'll understand. Courtesy of your family background," she added scathingly, and his eyes flashed momentarily with heat.

"I'm not going to harm them, Weasley." There was something tightly wound in his voice, not quite anger, not quite viciousness either. Something that was etched more deeply within him. "I just don't really have anywhere else to go."

Rose lowered her wand, her heart thumping in her ears. The candidness in his voice had stirred warmer feelings towards him, which she found desperately perplexing. _You can't let yourself be suckered in, Rosie. _"So go home."

"Have you been watching the news? Home's not a very nice place to be at the moment," he remarked dryly. "Courtesy of your mum's nifty Securities Act," he added, mimicking her tone from earlier on.

Rose stared at the boy, trying to search for any plausible excuse to turn him away except for her own personal feelings but unable to come up with any. Scorpius looked fatigued. There were deep eye circles under his eyes, like he hadn't been able to sleep properly for days, and though he was trying to conceal it he was shivering slightly in his wet clothes.

This wasn't Hogwarts. Scorpius had no cronies to hide behind, no popularity boost from being a Seeker or a handsome deviant. This was muggle London, a place where he had no control over, and he was simply a boy who willingly left his home because of all places it was the one he hated most.

In some ways, he was as vulnerable as the boy who had lost his memories.

"Alright," she said, hating herself but nevertheless taking his arm with her hand. "C'mon. Let's go meet my bloody grandparents." She stopped in her tracks and veered around to face him with a sharp look. "But _no_ teacups."

Scorpius grinned and followed her lead up the steps to the Granger home.

**AAA. **

**It's a bit of a filler chapter, I know, but the next one will be good. I promise. **

**I always liked the idea of exploring the muggle world a bit better from a Wizarding perspective, since the muggle world that J.K Rowling addresses from the Harry Potter books is obviously not the same world that we live in today—with so many fancy gadgets we have to play with and modernization blablabla. **

**I hope you all enjoyed reading the Granger-Weasley family dynamic. I always pictured Hermione as a workaholic when she grew up. Some things don't change. **

**The theme of this chapter is also meant to revolve around being brave enough to expose yourself, since Carpathia and Scorpius are being put in situations where their family is vulnerable to society yet **_**again**_** and they have a lot of pent-up feelings about that inside.**

**Scorpius, especially, with his pride and pigheadedness, is a person that is very unlikely to ask for help from other people. Of course, he finally lets his guard down around Rose and he can't help himself because he comes to term with the reality that he **_**"doesn't have anywhere to go"**_**. **

**Will update soon with the second part! I realize I've been doing a lot of two-parters, but it's hard to squeeze everything into one chapter when there's multiple things happening during one day. **

**Reviews (as always) are very welcome. **

**~Missuswitch**


	13. Wanders Through London: Scones

**Chapter 13: Wanders Through London: Coffee and Scones **

**So it's been awhile. **

**I apologize, dear fans. I have been very bad, but I hope you take comfort in the fact that I am dying a very slow death with the absolute pile of Uni homework sitting on my desk. I'm also trying this new thing where I eat healthier, because—as most of you know, if you're in Uni—it's pretty bloody impossible. **

**Anyway this is all rambling about nothing, so before I continue, special thanks to:**

**SoccerChick2112, SimplyEcho, and JesusFreak917, and my anonymous fans for your reviews. I take them all to heart. **

**Just a recap on Chapter 12 **

**Rose is going to visit her Muggle grandparents, Al and Carpathia go to a tattoo parlor, and Scorpius is at the wrong place at the wrong time, which just somehow ends up being right. **

**AAA. **

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR; I just tinker-tanker. **

David and Moira Granger were the perfect picture of muggle dentists. If a person were to walk straight into their house, he or she would immediately spot the white lab coat hanging next to the door, a remnant of David Granger's working days that he was too reminiscent of to stow away. Their living room was an orderly, simply furnished space with as many health credentials plastered all over the walls as there were photos of family members. The photos comprised mainly of Rose and Hugo as rascally redheaded children with toothy smiles, though there were some colorful snapshots of Hermione and Ron's wedding. Oddly enough, there were no photos of Hermione as a child.

Rose had always loved entering this quiet, peaceful household that was such a contrast to the obnoxious disorder of the Weasleys. David and Moira were quiet and peaceful people; after all, they had only raised one child.

"I have to say, Rosie, this is such a marvelous surprise. We had no idea you were coming or we would have tidied up the place," said her grandmother with a happy clap of her hands. Mrs. Granger was a short woman who had grown slightly wider over the years, but her frizzy hair and petite nose had remained intact to display a striking resemblance between her and Hermione.

"Honestly, Gran, I doubt this place could be any neater. You've truly outdone yourselves." Rose sniffed the air, detecting the mouth-watering aroma of baked wheat. "What's that delicious smell?"

"Scones," declared her grandfather proudly, walking out of the kitchen. He was a tall, smiling man with strands of grey hair sticking out in all directions from his nearly bald scalp. He wore large spindly glasses that magnified his eyes to that of an owl's.

"David's been experimenting with all sorts of sugar-free snacks since retirement. He gets rather restless around the house," added her grandmother pointedly. "Which reminds me. Candy?" She held out a basket full of colorful wrappers with clear labels that read '_NO SUGAR'_. "David made them himself."

"No thanks, gran."

"And you, dear?" her grandmother extended the basket towards Scorpius, who had settled himself quite comfortably in the couch next to Rose.

"Oh yes please. I'm starving," he said rather eagerly, reaching into the basket without so much as a thank you. _He does have a knack for making himself at home when he's not supposed to, _thought Rose irritably.

Far from looking appalled at the lack of manners, however, Rose's grandparents beamed.

"Rose, you never told us you were bringing a fellow. Is this the same gentleman from your letters? He's much more handsome than your words do him justice," remarked Mrs. Granger, eyeing Scorpius speculatively.

"Why, thank you," grinned Scorpius, pausing from his crunching to shoot Moira a charming smile. "That is too kind."

"No, we're not—_Gran, _we're not dating," Rose spluttered, trying desperately to revert the purpose of her visit back on track. "_Carter's_ the bloke from the letters. We broke up."

"Oh," said Mrs. Granger with the grace to look abashed, "Well I never know with my memory. Wasn't he a blond as well?"

"Yes, it's a common affliction that's yielded only a few fruitful results," said Scorpius with a deadened look on his face that prompted her grandmother to chuckle. Rose wanted to punch him in the face.

"And what's your name, young man?"

"It's S-"

"Sven," interrupted Rose, kicking Scorpius under the table and causing him to clamp his mouth shut with a wince. "His name is Sven Mal—Melrose. Sven Melrose."

"God, yes. That's perfect," echoed Scorpius.

"He has the most _wonderful_ personality," ground out Rose forcefully with another aimed kick under the table.

Mrs. Granger regarded her granddaughter with a puzzled look. "Right…well, those clothes look awfully wet, Sven. Perhaps we could change you into a couple things in David's drawers—though couldn't you just magic his clothes dry, Rose dear?"

"I can't, gran, sorry. I'm underage, remember?" sighed Rose. 

"Ah, yes. I've forgotten that funny rule. Come along then, Sven. We'll see if we can get you sorted." Her grandmother waited as Scorpius got up a little awkwardly from his seat and stepped over small cramped spaces till he was next to the elderly woman. He flashed Rose a mischievous grin before trailing after Mrs. Granger's shuffling steps into the distance. Rose could hear her grandmother asking rather animatedly: "So, how do you and Rosie know each other?"

Rose flopped back down on the couch, trying not to exhale too loudly in frustration so that she wouldn't attract the attention of her grandfather. No doubt Scorpius would concoct another believable story for the two of them with that silver tongue of his. And at least, if her grandparents ever talked to her mum about this, they'd be mentioning a boy named Sven and not Scorpius Malfoy.

There was a ding from the kitchens. David Granger stood up from his armchair with a cocked head. "Ah! Those are probably the scones." He hobbled to the kitchen eagerly, leaving Rose alone in the living room to wait.

It wasn't long before Scorpius returned into the living room, dressed clad in her grandfather's clothes. Rose took one look at him and had to stifle her laughter with a hand, though it didn't stop her from blurting out a heavy snort.

Thank goodness her grandmother hadn't gone with farmer pants and suspenders, though the button-up she'd given Scorpius wasn't any less old-fashioned. It was a beige and red plaid shirt that made it clear all Scorpius was missing was a pitchfork and a wheelbarrow by his side. Scorpius' grimaced expression seemed to say it all.

Rose managed to muster a straight face and then flashed him a glare that read: _Don't complain. _

"Oh, doesn't he look dashing?" stated Mrs. Granger delightedly, cuffing the boy's cheeks. "These were David's old university clothes from Oxford. It's a miracle we still have them around in good shape."

"I feel so lucky," quipped Scorpius with a pained look. He was holding a Mark and Spencer's grocery back filled with the clothes he'd been wearing earlier.

"We were just talking about that school of yours, Rose. Sven did you know—oh but you must, you two are probably in the same classes—that our dear Rosie has managed to be top of the class for five years in a row now? We're ever so proud."

"_Really_?" echoed Scorpius with only a hint of a smirk. "I thought you were always tying first place with that—that other bloke—now _what_ was his name again?"

Rose stared daggers at him. "Haven't the faintest idea what you're going on about, _Sven_. Are you sure somebody didn't _knock your head_ too hard?"

"Oh no no, it's coming to me now," exclaimed Scorpius, snapping his fingers melodramatically. "Tall, young, ridiculously handsome…what was his name, ah, let me think…oh yes, _Scorpius Malfoy_! Now that's a bloke who's got the full package."

"Scorpius Malfoy? What an odd name," mused Mrs. Granger.

"They say he has a face carved by angels," stage-whispered Scorpius and Mrs. Granger's face twitched into a small smile. "Rose has her work cut out for her."

"Well, you've never mentioned him, dearie. Is he giving you a hard time at school?"

"Hardly," replied Rose, teeth still clenched.

"Oh, but he's very clever," continued Scorpius adamantly, "And popular. And did I mention handsome?"

"You forgot arrogant, pigheaded git," added Rose with a cheerful smile.

"Nah you must have that mixed up with somebody else."

"Oh no, I'm certain it's the same bloke. Perhaps you've seen him around with his gargantuan head? He also occasionally walks around with a foot up his arse."

"Jealousy is a fairly unattractive trait."

"_Malfoy _is a fairly unattractive trait."

"Scones are ready," announced Rose's grandfather happily, interrupting their heated exchange by trodding into the living room with oven mitts and a plate full of warm, moist pastries. "I hope everyone fancies raspberry."

"Ooh yes," said Mrs. Granger hastily, shooting the pair of teenagers extremely confused looks. "Tea or coffee, Mr. Melrose? I know Rose prefers coffee, though I do think scones go much better with tea myself."

"Would you have any hot chocolate, perhaps?" inquired Scorpius, and Rose glanced at him incredulously. Honestly, for a boy from an upper-class family, he really wasn't very well rehearsed in proper etiquette.

"Why, yes!" replied Mr. Granger delightedly as though Scorpius had just told him he'd won a million pounds. "Jolly good you asked. Made me own mix the other day using only dairy products instead of the usual sugary rubbish." He scurried back into the kitchen and came out with a steaming mug that was branded with the Arsenal football team logo. "I hope ye don't mind, but I took the liberty of adding some gluten-free marshmallows."

"Fantastic," replied Scorpius, looking genuinely appreciative when he rubbed his palms over the warm mug.

Mrs. Granger chuckled to herself and passed on a cup of coffee to Rose, who accepted it silently.

"So, Sven, whereabouts do you live?" her grandmother inquired, stirring her own cup of Earl Grey with a spoon.

"I, er…" To Rose's surprise, Scorpius actually looked momentarily flustered. "My Wizarding home isn't quite so easy to pinpoint, but I was told it was somewhere along St. James' and King's."

Mrs. Granger's eyes widened. "Why, that's a lovely neighborhood. Nearabouts St. James's Park, am I correct?"

"I think so, yes."

Mrs. Granger shared a fond glance with her husband. "How delightful. We've always had a very firm attachment to that place. St. James's Park was where David and I first met-"

"Gran," interrupted Rose embarrassedly, cringing at the idea of Scorpius retelling her grandmother's words in shrill mimicry to all his mates on the Hogwarts Express. "I don't think Malf—er—_Sven_ needs to hear this."

"Nonsense, _you_ love hearing this story, don't you?" Her grandmother turned to Scorpius with a conspiratory whisper. "Rosie's always been a bit of a romantic, even if she'll never admit it."

"Is that so?" said Scorpius with a tinge of amusement, turning towards Rose with a flat gaze. "Do continue."

Rose exhaled. "Gran-"

"Now, come on. Rosie. If he wants to hear it…" Rose grumbled to herself as her grandmother took up the air of someone who was about to divulge a very precious secret.

"Right before they started advertising the park for tourists, St. James's used to be a student haven, a place where boys and girls getting off from school used to go just to get away from their dreary books. When I was a girl, it was the loveliest place to be in London." Mrs. Granger always began the story the same way. Rose could have practically memorized the order of words, but she allowed herself to sit back and enjoy her grandmother's grainy voice, which always faded into smoother, dreamlike tones when she was retelling this particular bit. "It was St. James' Park where a friend of mine had arranged for me to meet her cousin for late-afternoon tea, convinced the two of us would make a lovely pair. I was studying Dentistry at St. Bart's at the time, and this particular cousin was an Oxford man."

She paused. "The cousin never made it to the teahouse. He'd had a last-minute engagement or perhaps he'd gotten the flu; I can't remember. Of course, I had no idea this was the case so there I was, sitting there and waiting for this impotent man to arrive. It was about three-quarters past an hour when I finally spotted a gent walk in carrying an Oxford briefcase."

Rose's grandfather smiled.

"Naturally, I marched up to him and scolded him- '_You're off to a bad start for keeping the girl waiting_!' –and naturally he was utterly terrified. He must have apologized about a dozen times, and then we sat down and had what was probably the most maddening conversation I'd ever had in my life."

She grinned. "You see, this gent had had no intention in meeting a girl that day, and he was hardly the cousin of my companion. This gent had been scheduled for an interview with a University professor for a transfer into Oxford School of Commerce, and the professor happened to be a woman."

Rose watched Scorpius from the corner of her eyes. He was attuned to her grandmother's words, his eyes diligently captured.

"You can imagine the number of misunderstandings in our conversation. I'd ask him 'How do you know Callaghan?'—Callaghan was the name of my friend, you see—and he would reply with 'I regret to say that I don't. I haven't read any books written about this person.' It was awful! I thought either this man had the worst memory of any person alive, or he was so dull he might as well have thrown himself in the lake." Her grandmother chuckled to herself, and a smile flitted briefly across Scorpius' face. "I was right about to leave when I heard music coming from the courtyard below. There was a jazz quartet playing right outside and I thought to myself, '_If I've suffered this long, I might as well take some enjoyment out of it_.' So then, I decided to give this poor chap one last breath of hope and asked him to dance."

"He must have thought he was about to take some part in an assessment because his first reaction was, 'I wasn't prepared for a dancing section.'" Mrs. Granger took a pause here to roll her eyes. "So I grabbed that silly man and pulled him down to the lawn and there we were, swaying on the grass to the most beautiful music in London's loveliest park. And then it all changed."

Mrs. Granger had never offered any further elaboration on this part but Rose had never really needed her to. As a young teenage girl, she'd always reconstructed that moment in her own mind, even if it was—as Mrs. Granger put it—humiliatingly and exaggeratingly romantic.

"We must have known right then and there of our horrid mix-up, because conversation naturally struck up again and everything simply fell in place, as though we had solved some secret universal puzzle that had just been waiting for us to pick up the right pieces…"

"And so we danced well into the evening until the jazz quartet had all packed up and left. We were so preoccupied that I had completely forgotten about the time and the gent—well, even if the professor had actually arrived to meet him, the gent was well past getting into Oxford."

"I never wanted to study commerce anyway," quipped Rose's grandfather solemnly.

"And that's when we realized we had to introduce ourselves. So I said, 'If you aren't Callaghan's cousin, then at least give me _something_ to call you.' And that's when he said…" Mrs. Granger halted, turning her face towards her husband.

"David. David Granger," conceded Rose's grandfather in a soft voice.

"Moira. Moira Ackerley," replied Mrs. Granger with an affectionate pat of her arm. "And, of course, we met many times in that park after that."

There was a silence that trailed after her words. Rose's eyes darted towards Scorpius, whose face remained impassive except for a strange smile that wasn't quite a smile lingering on his lips.

"That is quite a nice story," he commented, "Perhaps I'll visit that park someday." He set down his mug of hot chocolate, already empty. "That was splendid chocolate, by the way." He gestured at his half-eaten scone. "Quite a tasty scone as well. Though might I make a suggestion?"

Rose opened her mouth to object, but her grandfather leaned forward in interest. "Of course."

"For such a heavy fruit base, you might want to consider a dash of cinnamon. It helps alleviate the sourness of the fruit."

There was a pause, and Mr. Granger nodded slowly as he processed this. "Yes, yes, that might do the trick. Would you like to accompany me to the kitchen, young man? I've got a fresh batch in the oven."

"Certainly," Scorpius stood up and followed Mr. Granger without another word. Rose stared after him, her mouth still open, only to be brought back by her grandmother's soft laugh next to her.

"What an eccentric. But then again, I suppose most boys in your world are." She set down her tea and slid closer to her granddaughter. "So, now that the men are busy in the kitchen…" She took a pause to comment: "Heavens, that's something I would have _never_ said in my day. But, now that they're gone, we have this ample opportunity for just us women to talk." She paused again to regard Rose with serious, hazel eyes, eyes that were so like her own mother's. "So what's happened between you and this Carter chap?"

"I…" Rose was taken aback by the directness of her grandmother's question. They had, on several occasions, drifted to this area of conversation, but usually on Rose's terms. She had never once thought that Mrs. Granger was so invested in her granddaughter's love life. "We just sort of had different, erm, political views…." She hesitated, grimacing to herself. How to explain blood-prejudice to her grandmother? Better yet, how to define the term '_Death-Eater'_?

"We had our differences, and we grew apart," she hedged finally.

"Oh I see," said Mrs. Granger with a knowing glance. "Difficult to explain, then?"

"Sorry, gran. I wish I could."

"No, that's quite alright." Mrs. Granger fell silent for several moments, then: "I used to get the same response from your mother."

The subject of Hermione instantly prodded a sensitive spot in Rose's heart. "I'm not like mum, Gran." She could picture Hermione as a young girl, sitting at the breakfast table while simultaneously poring over her summer homework from Hogwarts, too occupied to chatter and yet not occupied enough to be able to wave off her parents as she had done to her children so many times.

Mrs. Granger was surprised by the edge in her voice. "Goodness, Rose. You make it sound like the most dreadful thing in the world."

"It _is_ the most-"Rose took a deep breath before her irritation could boil over and fuel her words in her direction she'd regret later. "Everyone sees mum as a hero, and I know what she's done has been utterly extraordinary and she _is_ probably the cleverest witch of our age like everyone says she is. I just wish…" She paused. "I wished she'd be someone I could look at and simply _admire _without listening to someone rattle off her achievements on the telly or in the papers. When she's always off protecting the free people and writing up laws and—really—just upholding the whole bloody world on her shoulders, it's hard to see her as just a—a—person, which given all the shit I've had to go through at home, she's got _enough_ faults to be just a regular sodding person. I wish she'd…" She blinked quite rapidly before proceeding to say the next few words, "She'd want to be my mother first before everything else."

At her granddaughter's final words, Mrs. Granger gave Rose a deep, harrowing stare and sucked in a breath.

"Oh Rosie, do you know why there are no pictures of Hermione as a girl in this house?"

It was a startling change of subject, and even more intiguigingly, a chance to procure the solution to a question that Rose had had nagging in the back of her mind. The girl stayed silent and waited for her grandmother to continue.

"Because years ago, on a day when your grandfather and I were watching the telly right where you were sitting, your mother walked into this living room and took away all our memories."

Mrs. Granger smiled wanly as Rose convulsed slightly. "Oh yes, shocking, I know. Not only was it our memories, but everything that came with it as well. She magicked the walls and photographs, even sent us packing to Sydney, until not a trace of her existed in our minds. When the war ended and she came to us in our small, lovely flat, only then did our memories flood back."

"I was furious. Your grandfather forgave her instantly, but I could not be her mother again so readily. I would not speak to her for months; I was so angry that she had taken the liberty to destroy all that we had given her. Then, of course, I realized." Mrs. Granger stopped, and Rose realized her grandmother's hands were shaking a little.

"I realized it must have taken that poor, brave girl all that she had to protect us because she had become a solider in a war neither your grandfather or I could understand. She loved us so much she would have preferred to be an orphan and see us safe than to spend her possible last moments as our daughter. And the anger I felt…it was not for her, but for myself…for feeling so useless, for forcing her to grow up so quickly and dwell in such horrors on her own." Mrs. Granger placed a hand on Rose's arm. "Your mother _is _your mother above all else, Rose. Whether she tells you or not, she does all she can to uphold this world for _you_, not for herself. Those are reasons to admire her."

It was quiet. Rose could hear the grandfather clock ticking behind her, reminding her softly of the time, but she could not think of that now. All she could think about were those bare walls, those forgotten blank photographs, and what oblivion her mother's childhood portraits had faded into.

"Well, I'm parched from all this talking," declared Mrs. Granger, suddenly cheerful. "Who wants more tea?"

Rose nodded slowly, her mind still somewhat numb from all the information she'd been given, and followed her grandmother towards the kitchen. Her grandfather was hunched over the oven with a cinnamon dispenser in one hand, and Scorpius was nowhere to be seen. Rose presumed he had headed for the restroom, but when she stepped out into the hallway, she saw the unmistakable blond glimmer and the familiar outline of his wiry figure halted outside the bedroom of her grandparents. She was about to call out his name, but then she realized his eyes were trained on something on the wall and his face had cracked into a laughing smile as though he had discovered a particularly amusing artefact.

Rose knew what hung on that wall. It was a photograph of her when she was three, taken on some arbitrary day that she and her parents had decided to go to the beach. The day had been crisp and wintry, but despite the unfriendliness of the English coast, she could still remember the flash of exhilaration when she'd placed her feet into the cold water, the childish shriek that had followed, and the sound of her mother's voice guiding her to run into her arms.

_Rosie dear_, she could still hear Hermione saying with a tired laugh, _look this way. Look at mummy. Mummy's taking a picture_.

She'd been born with natural ringlets, a trait that had passed on from Moira Granger. At that age they had spilled over the sides of her head in sweet-looking auburn curls. They were a stark contrast to the bright blue bathing suit her mother had forcefully shoved on her, creating quite a comical (and hideous, Rose often liked to remark privately to herself) image. But the most striking feature of the picture was not her hair nor her suit, but the fact that she'd been pointing directly at the camera with one outstretched finger, as though she were trying to cast a spell on her onlookers. It was a charming picture; Hermione had proudly given it to the Grangers to have it framed.

She did not know why, but just remembering that that photograph existed made her heart tighten. Those ringlets no longer existed; she had charmed her hair so that they would never produce the same effects again. But what about that little girl who was so trusting and so dearly adoring of her mother? Was she gone too?

Scorpius was still chuckling to himself, and for a moment, Rose thought he might have been the only person in the world to understand why things had changed so much.

AAA.

Al must have been lulled off to sleep because in his next conscious moment he registered two things: one was Carpathia's amused face hovering above his and the second was that her clothes were back on.

"You've got a habit of falling unconscious at the wrong times," she remarked dryly. "I did bring you here to watch, after all."

"Did I? Well, I saw enough…and it was…so…peaceful in there," yawned Al, stretching out his arms. "So how'd it go? Got what you wanted?"

"Silky's an artist," Carpathia replied simply. "C'mon. I've already paid."

He followed Carpathia out of the store, wondering where the brown-skinned woman with a partiality for redheads had disappeared off to but Silky made no sighting. When they were back out on the busy street, it was late-afternoon and the sun was blurred, orange blot against the clouds.

"So can I see the tattoo?" said Al with a grin, prodding her side.

Carpathia tugged her top further downward in defiance. "Serves you right for sleeping through it."

"Oh. Maybe next time then," shrugged Al, feeling a slight stab of disappointment.

"Next time what?" When the words left Carpathia's mouth in a slow, incredulous inquiry, Al realized the implications of his previous statement.  
><em>Yes, Al, next time what? Next time she takes off her top in front of you? <em>

"Erm, I meant…" His could feel his damn cheeks heating up again. Why was he such a bloody open book? "I meant…you…when…if you want."

He waited for that cool, collected smile to appear and alleviate the situation that he had so stupidly wrangled himself in, but it never did. Her grey eyes were filled with doubt, and she was biting her lip as though a perturbing thought had suddenly occurred to her.

"Maybe this was a bad idea." It slipped out quietly.

"Why would you say that?" asked Al with a prick of annoyance. _Not what I had expected, at all_. "We're friends. It's not—it's not a massive deal if we don't make it out to be."

"It's not fair to Isabel."

_Since when has she given a damn about Isabel? _"Izzie would understand. I thought this was about 'body art', after all, not about the whole ordeal of being, er, topless. And it's not as if I _saw_ anything, just your bare—bare back."

"True." Carpathia paused, and to his relief, that smile finally appeared. "Well, look at that! You're more comfortable with something than I am for once."

"I _am_ a bloke," shrugged Al with a grin. "Nudity's not something I could complain about, especially since it's been a whole summer of failed attempts in trying to _get_ at a bit more nudity…but that's not erm, relevant," he amended himself hastily when Carpathia's eyebrows raised, "This hasn't got anything to do with nudity…this is completely nonsexual, sort of like watching a Quidditch match…"

Her eyebrows raised ever higher.

"Not that you're not unattractive, Thia…" he plowed on, wondering if there was a switch in his brain that he could somehow trigger so that his mouth stayed shut. "You are…you've got really lovely skin, and when you've been sitting around in a dry spell all summer and you suddenly get to see a girl's bare back it can be a bit of a shock, believe me…but since this isn't about that…y'know…I suppose that doesn't matter…" his blathering trailed to a stop, and he stared at Carpathia with a resigned expression. "Help me?"

"No more talking, Potter," intoned Carpathia firmly, but she looked as though she was struggling not to laugh. She steered him forwards and they continued walking down the street.

"Sorry if that was a tad bit awkward-"

"Shut up."

It was only after they reached Camden Town Station again that she permitted him to speak, and by then, his embarrassment had abated. The crowd had noticeably thickened and muggles in office-wear jostled past the two of them, barely taking note of the teenagers as they preoccupied themselves with yelling loudly into their cell-phones.

"Blimey," commented Al.

"Rush-hour," answered Carpathia, gracefully side-stepping a portly-looking banker who was roaring loudly into his mouthpiece. "Where are you headed now?"

"Leicester Square. I'm meeting Rose for some birthday present shopping."

"Oh, that's nice. If you take the tube now, you ought to be there in about fifteen minutes."

"Would you like to come?" inquired Al. The thought of this being their parting and not seeing Carpathia again until term started was rather discomforting. "I'm sure Rose wouldn't mind."

"No, I'm sure she wouldn't. But my parents…" Carpathia shook her head, and he could sense that ever-hanging cloak of filial duty descending upon her. It was such a trademark among children from old pureblood families; Al had been around Lucas and Scorpius long enough to know that nothing could keep them far away from their parents' leashes for too long.

"You've been in the house all summer. Stay for a bit longer?" prodded Al quietly, and he took her arm with his hand before she could say anything else. "It'll only be for another hour or so."

"Well I suppose if I don't come, the next time I see you will be Christmas," jibed Carpathia with a smile, pulling away from him.

"You're exaggerating," remarked Al a matter-of-factly.

"Perhaps." She tugged her arm away from his grip and turned towards the blustering stream of people with a knowing smile. "Al?"

"What?"

"Keep up." Before he could protest, she had dissolved into the crowd and against the darkening streets and the stream of faces, he could barely make her out except for the bright magenta-and-blue streak in her hair.

AAA.

"You _want_ to see Al?" asked Rose dubiously as they boarded the bus at the station they had previously disembarked at.

"Want is a pretty strong word," replied Scorpius airily, tugging on the sleeve of the grandfather button-up shirt he was still wearing. "I meant that I would not mind if, say, the opportunity fell in my lap to check and see how that poor sod is doing."

"So write him," said Rose with a roll of her eyes, inching into a seat and feeling a strange thrill through her chest as Scorpius' shoulder brushed against hers while he was settling into the seat beside her.

"And deny him the chance to look at _this _face?" said Scorpius dramatically, flashing her an incredulous look. "Your own grandmother said words don't do me justice."

Rose hid her smile. "She didn't have her glasses on."

"Good thing, too, otherwise she might've had a heart attack." He nudged her side gently. "C'mon, Weasley. Admit it. Your grandparents liked me."

_Yes. They do. And that makes my life really bloody complicated. _"Did you come along with me just to gloat?"

"That would be awfully petty of me, wouldn't it?"

"So what, then?" she glanced sideways at him. "Just…avoiding home?"

His eyes glinted with triumph. "Something like that."

"You know, I had no idea you had such an opinion about scones," stated Rose offhandedly. "Someone must have been overweight as a child."

"On the contrary, I've been flawless since my moment of birth."

"_Clearly_."

His mouth twitched. "Actually, Weasley, I just spent a lot of time in the kitchens. House-elves taught me a thing or two." _House-elves_, repeated Rose in her head wryly. Oh, her mum would throw a fit knowing that house-elves were still working as staff for old pureblood families.

"Hungry child?"

Scorpius' fingers tapped the seat in front of them in an obscure rhythmic pattern.

"No, not really, just a lonely one," he replied without betraying a hint of emotion.

She opened her mouth to cut in, but before she could say anything, he continued on quite smoothly. "You had curly hair when you were little."

It was an odd statement to make at that particular moment in time. "Yes, I did."

"So why the alteration?"

Rose looked at him sideways, wondering what was it that prompted his curiosity. "You really think ringlets would have suited me?"

"I think it would be a shame if I never got to see you with them," grinned Scorpius.

"God, I hope _never-_"

"Excuse me." A girl who had been standing on the bus barely three meters away chose the moment to slide into their proximity. Rose felt her fingers tighten over her lap when she registered the fact that she'd been interrupted by a complete stranger, something she absolutely _detested_, and more so when she registered the girl's smooth brown ringlets and pretty, oval face.

Oh, silly Rose. It was odd, really, how easily she felt threatened when she didn't have to be. Because other girls could stare at Malfoy. Other girls could also realize that even in grandfather clothes, even when he was holding a plastic bag full of sopping wet clothes, he did look quite smashing.

"Hi, so sorry to interrupt," the girl said, her eyes fixed on the blond boy and her face splitting into a coy smile. "Would you happen to know the time?" With a cock of her head, her brown ringlets cascaded to one side and the soft white skin of her neck was exposed. It was a subtle move to imply that she was interested.

And it worked. Scorpius' sat a little straighter, and his undisclosed, content expression morphed into one Rose easily recognized from school; a mingling of poise, confidence, and amusement.

"I'm not wearing a watch," he pointed out. "Which leaves us in a bit of an awkward situation."

"Oops," grinned the girl, putting a hand on her hip. "My mistake."

It was a move so obvious and callous and _corny_ that Rose could have stuck her finger down her throat. _Just pull out your cellphone, you twit. _

"So are you dressed for a play or something?" the girl went on. "You look like my great-uncle."

"And if I wasn't?" inquired Scorpius with a raised eyebrow.

The girl smiled in a way that clearly suggested she didn't believe him. "Good thing I find older gents attractive, then."

"You're awfully forward," mused Scorpius without batting an eyelash. The girl's eyes darted towards Rose briefly, as if she were privately assessing what her relation to Scorpius was. But Scorpius-then again—was evidently responding to her flirtations so Rose must have been no consequence, and the girl relaxed.

"Couldn't help myself," she said slyly.

"So what now? Do I give you my address or are you just going to get off the bus with nothing but lingering thoughts of me?" replied Scorpius quite bluntly.

The girl wrinkled her nose, a little taken aback with how much ease he was handling the situation. "Maybe I could just slip you my number, and you could call me." She handed him a slip of paper (a slip of paper she had already _prepared_, Rose noted with derision). "Cheers," she said with another confident grin and then flounced off.

Scorpius stared after her for several seconds and then his eyes darted down to the slip of paper in his hand. "Christ, are muggle girls really so _frank_ all the time?"

Rose said nothing, and he continued with a chuckle. " '_Call me_. _Brianna._'_" _He shoved the slip of paper into his pocket. "What an utterly mundane name." Then, after a beat: "She was quite cute though."

"Are you going to take her up on that offer?" Rose heard herself ask as if from a distance, not knowing why her heart was suddenly pounding so hard and the blood in her veins had turned to heat.

"Can't. Don't own a muggle mobile phone. Pity…" he paused thoughtfully, and his face dissolved into a cheeky grin, "She did have a nice pair of-"

"You're a _pig_," the words came out more forcefully than intended; Rose tried to remedy the situation immediately, but realized (with a pang of satisfaction) that she just couldn't be bothered to _care_.

He stared at her incredulously. "_Merlin,_ Weasley."

"It's just…_such_ typical Malfoy behavior. I don't know why I expected anything out of…" her voice trailed off into an angry vibrato: "You have a _girlfriend_."

"Chantal's not-" Scorpius began, and then cut himself off sharply with a brief shake of his head. "My personal life is none of your business, Weasley."

"Oh, that's right. And I suppose giving a smidgen of consideration to other people's feelings is none of _your _business."

He gazed at her flatly. "If it makes you feel any better, it's not as if I was ever seriously considering it."

"Why? Because she's a muggle?" Rose shot back.

"You're impossible to please, you know that?"

"I just wouldn't put it past you to think your time wasn't worth a person who had a lesser blood status."

Scorpius gnashed his teeth and threw up his hands in frustration. "Of course. Big, bad pureblood is back again, right on schedule. It's been, what, barely ten minutes since we left your grandparent's? Your _muggle ones_, I might add?"

"Yes, and merlin forbid I make the same lapse in judgment in again," snapped Rose with a glare. There was some part of her that knew this was terribly unfair to him, but all her frustration and anger at this horrible, brilliant boy was pouring out in one burst of energy. "I allowed myself one _second _to think you'd changed, but you're just the same, old Malfoy who walks around without a care in the world, playing around with people's lives as he pleases with no idea of how to take responsibility for his actions."

"And you're just the same old righteous _bitch_," retorted Scorpius, fury darkening his eyes to a storm. "You just see whatever fits in your world, doesn't it? It doesn't make sense for me to be a nice bloke, even though I damn well think a few of my actions deserve _some_ recognition. Like socking that bastard Carter, for instance, or _not_ turning your grandparents into teacups and the fact that even they—_yes, suck it up—like_ me.

"But no. I'm just Scorpius fucking Malfoy, the egomaniac from the rich Death-Eater family who has an ice-pick for a heart, when in reality—oh brace yourself, Weasley, it's a _shocker_—_I'm actually a decent person!_"

His tirade ended with a deeply aggravated puff of air, and he was glaring so avidly at her that Rose thought his eyes were attempting to burn a hole through her skull. People around them were starting to whisper, and Rose deduced that they had probably caught on to a few terms they shouldn't have, but she really couldn't give two bushels of a shit.

"So throw her number away," she replied with quiet venom. "Don't sit around preaching about yourself when you're still chatting up stupid, desperate tarts."

Scorpius' lips curled into a sneer. "Now who sounds like the jealous girlfriend?"

The bus was halting to a stop in front of the Leicester road sign, but Rose found herself frozen to her seat at his words. She could have sworn, as her heart did a shameless somer-sault in her chest, that there was a flash of triumph in his eyes.

The hiss of the bus doors sliding open reminded her to leap out of her seat, and she quickly shoved through the crowd of passengers. Her feet landed with a smack on the pavement, and she blindly strode towards the bright flickering lights, hearing Scorpius disembark behind her and shouting: "_Weasley!" _

_Stop following me. _

"Weasley, can't you just tell me what this is about?"

She was not going to feel as helpless as she did that day on the train when she'd seen him with Chantal, Rose fiercely told herself. She halted in her tracks and closed her eyes, willing Scorpius to go away. _Leave. Just leave. _

"Weasley," he'd caught up to her now and she felt his hand reaching for her arm, but she yanked it out of reach. "What the hell did I do now?"

"Nothing," she shot back bitterly. "Absolutely _nothing_."

"You've been a headcase since you played hooky with my memories—which, you know, you never apologized for and I'm doing fine nowthank you _very_ much—and I'm supposed to take that as 'nothing'?" replied Scorpius bitingly.

"It doesn't matter."

"What in Merlin's name happened that day?"  
>"I said, <em>it doesn't matter.<em>"  
>"It matters! Of course it matters!" yelled Scorpius, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. "You think I haven't noticed how your behavior's changed? You've gone all twitchy and sensitive. You <em>barely <em>speak to me, despite the fact you used to jump at the every ruddy chance to insult me with whatever pathetic name you could come up with. And now you-" he cut himself off, and an odd expression crossed over his features. "Find excuses to get away from me which, your hatred for me aside, is rather odd because the Weasley _I _remember liked having the opportunity to put me in my rightful place." His hands clenched into fists. "I might not remember anything, but that doesn't mean I'm blind. I need you to tell me what's going on."

There was silence between them.

"It doesn't matter," Rose repeated coldly. She held his incredulous blue-eyed stare with her own, not backing down.

There was a sudden cough behind them, prompting the two to shift towards the source of the noise simulatenously. To Rose's surprise, she found herself looking at both Al _and_ Carpathia, who were staring at them with puzzled looks on their faces.

"Should we come back at another time?" inquired Al with a perturbed look on his face.

"I—ah, no," Rose clamped her mouth shut and pursed her lips. It occurred to Rose that her cousin's hair was so long that she could barely see his green eyes past the red tendrils that spilled down the front of his forehead. _I ought to tell him to cut it_, she thought distantly. "Hi Carpathia."

"Hi," responded Carpathia amusedly.

"Didn't realize you'd brought someone along," said Al confusedly, eyeing Scorpius. "What the hell are you wearing?"

"Cheers, Potter."

"Malfoy was just leaving," cut in Rose curtly.

Scorpius cast Rose a withering look and retreated in the opposite direction. "I suppose I'll see you lot around then."

Al cleared his throat with an embarrassed expression. "Ah, hold on Malfoy, actually I-" Scorpius halted in his tracks, turning to regard Al with raised eyebrow. "…I was actually wondering if you'd like to stay-y'know, since we've got loads of time and assuming you haven't got a better place to be." Al's cheeks flushed as Scorpius' eyebrows rose higher. " I mean, to be honest, I haven't been around any blokes this summer 'cept for my own brother-"

"Al!" interrupted Rose sharply.

"What?" protested Al as she threw him an indignant glare. "Granted, Malfoy's not my favorite person and all-" He cast Scorpius a sheepish grin, and the blond boy's lips curled up into a smile. "But it's hard living in a family of Gryffindors when you're the only Slytherin around."

"Whatever," intoned Rose in clipped tones. "I suppose Malfoy wins. Malfoy always bloody wins."

"No, that's not it," said Al in exasperation. "I love you and all, Rosie, but I bloody _hate _shopping." His face lit up and he nudged Carpathia slightly forward. "And look! Now you've got a girl to go with."

Rose's eyes narrowed. "Fine. Thia and I will be in that watch shop over there. Feel free to join us if you can turn away from your _boyfriend_ for one second." She turned on her heel and stalked into the distance without another word.

Al stared off at his cousin, his jaw hanging. Scorpius was still rooted in his original spot, his face deceptively impassive.

"Tea and scones, Potter?"

Al shook his head and grumbled: "Yeah, alright."

AAA.

Scorpius did not order any scones because the weight of David Granger's sugar-free snacks in his stomach had, frankly, turned him off from sweets for the rest of the day. Instead, he contented himself with watching the redheaded boy sitting across him scarf down a raspberry-filled puff with comical vigor. The two of them were seated at a cozy café with a clear view of Rose's watch shop across the street.

"Blimey, let me think on this for a moment," said Al, his voice slightly muffled from chewing. "You met the _Grangers_?"

"You saw Carpathia Nott _topless_?" mimicked Scorpius, enjoying how his words induced a wave of fresh blood to fill the boy's cheeks.

"Not topless," corrected Al with a mutter. "Just her back. It was for the art."

"Cor, even your excuses are sad, Potter."

"And you're backtracking," accused Al. "Bloody hell, I would have never thought Rose would let you near her grandparents. She loves them, you know."

"And Malfoy equals instant death, does it?"

"Sorry. You know that's not what I meant," conceded Al with a wave of his hand. Scorpius stopped short of his next sardonic reply, taken aback by Al's apology. It occurred to him that out of all the people he had met today, Al was the first one to have uttered those magic words.

"What?" he said, his mind momentarily fogged.

"Forget it, alright? Just forget what I said about Thia and I'll forget about the Grangers," grumbled Al with a sigh. "This day is mental enough as it is."

"Now hang on a minute. What was that about a topless girl?"

"I told you I didn't _see _anything, you _git_." There was a pause as Al took another bite into his scone.

Scorpius cast him a beatific smile. "Since we're on the subject, have you fondled Miss Marietto's tits yet?"

Al sighed, though the boy apparently seemed to have expected it. He aimed the bird in response. "None of your fucking business, Malfoy."

Far from being offended, Scorpius raised his head and hooted with laughter. "_Oho_. Now I know what _that_ means. When a bloke uses foul vocabulary he's bound to be hiding something. Congratulations, Virgin Potter."

Al wore a peeved expression, although it looked rather half-hearted. "Speaking of hiding things, Malfoy, you want to tell me what on God's green earth you were doing with my cousin? Or what you two were bickering about?"

"What else? Weasley's jealous of my intellect and dashing looks."

"Yeah, yeah, you've got an ego the size of Antarctica, nothing new about that," waved Al dismissively. "But don't deny it, there's something funny going on."

"Haven't the faintest idea what you're going on about, Potter."

Al's brow furrowed and the redheaded boy crossed his arms, his eyes fixated on Malfoy in a much graver manner. "Bloody right you do. It's been happening since that memory malfunction. First, Rose acts like she's never known you, even though she's usually the first one to drop the Malfoy bomb whenever the family gathers to trash-talk people we absolutely hate-"

Scorpius grinned in amusement. "That's absolutely _precious_."

Al ignored him. "Second," he raised a finger. "She hardly said a word about receiving nine O.W.L's this year, even though it was made known that she'd beaten _you_ in the ranks." Scorpius' mouth twitched. "And third, there's you. After you acting like a lovestruck idiot towards her during that whole—er—_incident_, you show up "out of the blue" at her _muggle grandparents_? Now I know that's not a coincidence."

"I've got a very poor sense of direction," said Scorpius solemnly.

"Christ. Why can't you ever-" Al shook his head, and his teeth gnashed in frustration. "I'm not fucking _stupid_, Malfoy. Something _happened_, and you're going to tell me what it is."

Scorpius' lip curled. "Well, if you're going to use your underdeveloped powers of deduction for once, maybe you'd like to remember that _I _was the amnesiac here and that perhaps the person you should be asking is your cousin."

Al's brilliant green eyes fixed on his with absolute focus. "I haven't ruled out the possibility that you're not as oblivious as you make out to be."

Scorpius gazed back calmly. "Ask yourself, Potter. What possible motive do I have for lying?"

Al held the boy's stare sternly for several long seconds. Then, slowly, he settled back into his chair, the rush of color in his cheeks fading. "Right…I suppose you'd…you'd rather be caught dead than trying anything on a Weasley. At any rate, I was the one that brewed your antidote, and I bloody well know it was flawless."

He exhaled and the tension in his hands and neck loosened, causing the boy to smile once more. "Ah, forget it, Malfoy. I'm being a prat. I was just…looking out for her."

"Fair enough." Scorpous paused, and twisted his hands in his lap. "So is this the reason you asked me to stay? An interrogation?"

"No," Al said sheepishly, "I meant everything else too. It's been great being with family and all, but there's a whole lot of them and they're all really loud and obnoxious and…" He made an inscrutable shape with his hands, as though he was trying to conjure up a definition beyond words. "Merlin, I never realized how Gryffindors could be so…"

"…Excruciatingly unbearable?" quipped Scorpius lazily. "Welcome to the dark side, Potter. I knew you'd come round."

Al made a face. "Yeah, well, it's nice being able to sit down and just chat for once, instead of competing for who's got the longest time in the spotlight, which usually just ends up being James."

"And how _is_ the ass-hat?"

A brief smile flashed over Al's face at Scorpius not-so-subtle jab. "Spiffing, as usual. He got an invite from the Chudley Cannons for a tryout."

Scorpius swore with feeling. "Bastard."

"I know," nodded Al, who could empathize. "On the chummier side of things, he's named Richie Montgomery as his successor."

"_Montgomery_? Is he _mad_? He's got more twigs in his hair than his broom!"

"I'm definitely not complaining though."

"Well, yeah, I mean if you look at it strategically-" Scorpius stopped, and a real, genuine grin spread across his face. "With you as Captain, me as Seeker, and an idiot like Montgomery leading the Gryffindors, we'll win the Cup for Slytherin in our sleep."

The two boys regarded each other for a moment with silent looks of mischief. Good lord, thought Scorpius, is this _another_ friendly conversation we're having?

"Anyway, uh," coughed Al, reaching out for his scone for another bite. "How's your summer been?"

"What do you think, Potter?" Scorpius replied, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Al had the grace to look embarrassed. "Right. Sorry."

_Sorry. There was that word again. _Why did it bother him so much?

"You apologize too much, Potter," replied Scorpius rather distantly, thinking that the irony of all this was that a year ago, he still would have contested that Al was the bane of all his problems and would have probably relished an apology for weeks on end. Now, it just made him uncomfortable.

"Has it been that bad?" asked Al quietly.

"I'm Scorpius Malfoy. It's never that bad."

Al rolled his eyes and munched down on his snack without saying another word. Rather than feeling that surge of contentment that usually accompanied chasing Potter away, Scorpius felt an odd prick of desperation, knowing that the moment he successfully diverted Al's attention would be the moment he had forsaken the one person who had been remotely close to caring about his troubles.

All of a sudden, that notion was terribly frightening.

"I think my parents are splitting up," he blurted out, and he was instantly mortified and yet…

Relieved.

Al lowered his scone, eyes fixed on Scorpius warily.

"At least I think…I think my mother's planning on it. Father hasn't quite got a handle on things yet, but it's obvious," continued Scorpius in a detached manner. "If the Ministry confiscates anything more from the Manor, it'll be the final straw."

_Why are you telling him this? You're a Malfoy. Malfoys don't whinge about their problems. _But the words flowed out of his mouth mechanically, as though they could no longer be held back through sheer exhaustion. "The divorce would break Father. Mother's the one thing in his life he's got to show for, and he's a bit of an intense bloke. I'm…" he paused, and continued hesitantly, "Afraid of what's going to happen to him. More so than I'm afraid of what's going to happen to me."

"Malfoy-" Al began quietly, but the redheaded boy couldn't find any words to say.

Scorpius folded his fingers back into fists and set them on his lap. "It's not fair, to be honest. He loves her to death. But then, I suppose love is never really fair."

"That's shit," commented Al hoarsely, the scone still frozen to his fingers.

A smile flitted across Scorpius' face, despite himself. Eloquence had never been Potter's strong suit. "Putting it mildly."

Al nodded and, to his credit, went back to his scone as though nothing had trespassed between them. The only indication was the flickering of his green eyes, which bounced towards Scorpius every few moments as though he was still absorbing the blond boy's words.

Scorpius reflected on their conversation with bitter amusement. It was strange, really, how easy it was to talk about his home life with Potter. But then again, Potter had always possessed the tact of allowing Scorpius the dignity of not feeling pitied. A memory from four years earlier flashed back in brief episodes, a memory of the same boy who had shared a vial of Drinkable Warmth with him in consolation for a dreary Christmas day.

"So, how do you reckon we'll beat Ravenclaw this year? I hear Lexie's fixed up her arm and she's as right as rain now. Damn good seeker too," ventured Al.

Scorpius smiled.

AAA.

The watch shop that Rose had selected had been arbitrarily chosen, but to her pleasant surprise, she managed to find a suitable piece for Rowan within ten minutes. The watch was simple and yet practical, attached to a black, leather strap and lined with silver. The width of the clock itself was quite large, but Rose thought that the overall placement of the various instruments and the intricate gold timepieces would complement Rowan's skin color very adequately. She was glad she'd chosen a muggle watch rather than a Wizarding brand, for despite all the outrageous functions Wizarding watches were designed to perform (Time-Turner proof and whatnot), they lacked the elegance and vintage that muggles could so easily fashion.

"Water-proof as well," added the shop-keeper, a portly moustached man who had noticed Rose eyeing that particular brand speculatively. "One of the few diver's watches that I have on discount. Cost me a pretty penny, I'll have you know."

"Mm, yes, thank you," said Rose, trying to keep the interest out of her voice but failing. "What do you think, Thia?"

Carpathia, who had been hunched over the window display examining a handful of golden pocketwatches, turned at the sound of Rose's voice, wearing a look of surprise. "Um…brilliant," she said blankly, clearly admitting that she couldn't care less, "Why ask me?"

"Because we're girls and we ask each other all the time for our mundane opinions even though we couldn't give less of a shit," remarked Rose dryly.

"Ah, I see," acknowledged Carpathia with a humorous smile. "Well for the sake of giving a mundane opinion, I say it looks fine."

"Of course," replied Rose knowingly. "I'll take it," she informed the shop-owner, who immediately brightened at her words.

"'course, Madam. Gift-wrapped, then?"

"Oh, yes please."

"Good timing too. My son's just arrived and he's the good one with the wrapping," the shop-owner continued, his eyes fixated on something beyond Rose's shoulder. The bell of the store rang slightly, followed by the thump of the door frame as it hit the wall. Out of curiosity, Rose followed the shop-owner's line of sight, and her belly seemed to hit the wall of her gut when she registered what stood before her.

Gift-Wrap, dubbed as he was now in her mind, was a tall, dark wonder of long, brown hair and leather-strapped muscles. He had a biker's helmet tucked his arm and a growing stubble that adorned his chiseled jaw. And smoky eyes. Eyes that reminded you of tattoos and leather and everything that was too bad and yet _so good_. When they fell on Rose briefly, she thought she might've melted into a small puddle.

_Goodness_, thought Rose without shame, knowing sub-consciously that her jaw was hanging slightly open as the boy, (who was every inch _man, _she reminded herself), brushed past her.

"Sorry I'm late, dad," Gift-Wrap told the shop-owner, who brushed off the apology with a wave of his hand. "Who needs gift-wrapping?"

_You can gift-wrap my—_

Naughty, Rose. Naughty.

Rose's eyes glanced over at Carpathia, who seemed equally taken aback by the boy's entrance, even more so because he seemed like the type to belong on the back of an old Harley with a cigarette in hand rather than behind the register of an old watch-store.

"I do," said Rose rather breathlessly, handing over the watch without daring to meet his eyes. She felt his gaze on her again, and then—hoping that her burning cheeks weren't giving too much of herself away—walked as casually as she could to the other side of the shop where Carpathia was standing as though she were browsing for another product.

When she stopped next to the raven-haired girl, she muttered: "Did you see-"

"I _did_," replied Carpathia in equally low tones, her face contorted as though she was struggling not to laugh. "My oh my."

"I wasn't too obvious, was I? You think he's our age?"

"Older, I reckon," said Carpathia with a playful smile on her lips.

Rose glanced at her and bit her lip. At any rate, he was a lot more fetching than _Brianna_, she thought to herself, and then wondered why the bloody hell she was fixating on Brianna if it hardly mattered—

"You should talk to him," she said abruptly.

Carpathia raised her eyebrows. "And why's that? He was clearly looking at you."

"Really?" said Rose a little too eagerly, and then blushed at her own candidness. "No, I doubt it."

"Why's that? Look, he's glanced at you again now."

"Is he? No—wait—don't tell me—" she turned her back towards the register, fixing her eyes determining on a set of Chopard watches. "I figured he'd been more into you."

Carpathia snorted and leaned against the glass, pretending to stare at a set of silver cufflinks. "Because we're both dark-haired?"

"Because you both—have—tattoos and piercings and—and whatnot-"

"Maybe he likes clear skin," she suggested with a roll of her eyes. "Us tattooed and pierced folk can't always inbreed."

Rose shot her a sideways look, but when Carpathia met her face with a teasing smile, she felt herself smiling as well. "Teach me what to say, then. I don't often do this sort of thing."

"What sort of thing?"

"Flirt with strangers. I mean, I've only gone out with _one _person and I usually tend to admire from afar. Rose Weasley isn't too good at being mysterious and sexy." _Not like Malfoy_, the thought coasted through her mind, and the memory of his ease with Brianna from the bus fueled her even more.

"Well," enunciated Carpathia slowly, her eyes flickering towards the window. "You generally never want to be _too _honest, and a couple of white lies don't really do any harm. So, for instance, you could ask him his bike and tell him how you've always been interested in bikes-" her mouth twitched slightly, and Rose snorted. "Then, he'll probably carry on the conversation from there, and you just have to laugh if he says something remotely funny or even if he pauses, really, and that's pretty much it." Carpathia shrugged, and her eyes sharpened on Rose's front. "And loosen the top button of your shirt."

"You can't be serious-" protested Rose, and then she started to laugh to herself when she remembered her own words to her father that morning: _maybe I'll just wait for a muggle boy to pass by with a bitchen bike and hop on_. "God. You're the only person I know who seems to have information like this."

"Hardly," said Carpathia amusedly. "I'm just someone who's spent a lot of time watching." _And learning from my own mistakes_ was the silent statement behind her words, but Rose understood it was a touchy subject and didn't push on it. "Now you really should go and say something. We can't go and leave this store until you've tried."

"Right. Thanks," Rose took a deep breath and pulled her hair back into a ponytail, knowing that she could accentuate her cheekbones better that way. She was still finding the situation a little ridiculous. "Do I look alright?"

Carpathia grinned, flicking open the top button of Rose's deep blue blouse. "Mysterious and sexy enough."

Rose smiled at the girl with appreciation. "We ought to talk more at school, you know."

"Well, I am just two beds down," said Carpathia with just a hint of dryness.

Rose chuckled to herself as she departed the girl from their quiet corner. It occurred to her now that after five years of school with just a handful of girl friends and plenty of male ones, it was time she broadened her horizons beyond Rowan and Drew. _I have to keep that in mind_, she reminded herself, but now there were other issues at hand. She could practically hear Carpathia's laughter as she approached the register, feeling like she was standing at the edge of a cliff.

"Hi," she said.

Gift-Wrap looked up briefly from the maroon-colored box he was currently fitting her watch in. When his eyes registered her exposed neck and slightly open blouse, he set down the box and offered a smile that made her quite weak at the knees. "Oh. Hi there."

"So I, um…" _Bike, Rose. Bike. _Rose flashed Gift-Wrap what she hoped was a coy expression. "I noticed your ride earlier. I'm quite a…motorbike fan myself."

It worked like a charm. Gift-Wrap's eyes lit up and he leaned forward, causing several strands of his brown hair to fall rather effortlessly across his face.

"Really? Aw, it's nothing," he said with a broad smile, his chest puffing up slightly. "Me and my brothers got her together. She's a beauty, isn't she?"

Rose allowed herself a glimpse at Carpathia, who was smiling pointedly at her. _Well, if it's really all that simple_, thought Rose, realizing that the formulaic approach Carpathia had given her would suffice, and that this was simply following another rule, and she was _good_ at mastering the rules of a game. Her entire body relaxed, and she made a mental note to remind herself later on that whatever Malfoy could pull off, it hadn't been so impressive as she'd previously imagined.

She smiled at Gift-Wrap, eyes gleaming. "Oh yeah, never seen anything like it…"

They carried on their conversation even after he'd finished gift-wrapping her present for Rowan, but Rose learned quickly that even though Gift-Wrap was undoubtedly good-loooking, he was much better eye-candy than a conversationalist. The only relevant information she found she could put to use was that he'd just turned eighteen, that he had named his bike _Chimera_, and that his 'brothers' were actually the other members of his bike gang, of which he considered ardently as a serious pastime.

Other than that, Rose had no knowledge whatsoever of motorbikes, so when Gift-Wrap insisted on leading her outside to show her all the customized parts he had lovingly adorned his bike with, she simply winced and reluctantly followed him.

_So what now_, thought Rose a little despairingly, shooting a furtive look at Carpathia, who was trailing after them with an expression that clearly demonstrated she was trying not to burst out into peals of laughter.

"…here, I replaced the engine with a double-kick, y'know, so she doesn't fall apart when we're trying to flip off the gang-plank…"

"Mm, sounds dangerous," replied Rose with a fervent nod, shooting him another sly smile and wondering how long she could keep up the charade without yawning. Honestly, why couldn't he just take the hint that she was interested and take her up for a snog?

But then again, things didn't work the way they did at Hogwarts. Bloody strangers.

"…anyway, would you like to go for a spin sometime?"

What was that he was saying? Rose blinked rapidly, quickly reaching out for her word bank before the pause extended too long for an awkward period of time and he'd think she was mentally handicapped or something.

Luckily, Carpathia cut in smoothly: "Yes, she'd love to. Sometime. Wouldn't you, Rose?"

_Yes. _She smiled at Carpathia gratefully. "Yeah, that sounds brilliant."

Gift-Wrap looked pleasantly surprised. He set his helmet on the seat of his bike with almost a blush on his cheeks and reached for a ballpoint pen (what sort of biker had a ballpoint pen just lying around on him, wondered Rose amusedly) stowed away on his front pocket.

"You don't mind then, _Rose_, if I could have you number?"

" 'course not." Rose took the pen and uncapped it, and then realized—with a jolt—that they had an audience.

She heard Scorpius' snort from behind her and found herself looking the boy's pale, angular face, which was glittering with wickedness. "Yes, she'd love to, wouldn't she?" She stared at him, mortified, knowing that the taunting expression in his face was clearly saying: "_Is this because I took a muggle girl's phone number?"_

But no. She swallowed, clenching her fists rather defiantly. He had to know it had nothing to do with him.

"Oh hi there," she responded, doing her best to remain casual. "Where's Al gone off to?"

"Taking a piss. He sent me down to check and see if you were ready to go," replied Scorpius, his eyes traveling between her and Gift-Wrap and his lips quivering with unspoken insults. "So you've gone and made a friend in such a short time, Weasley, ah…?" He raised his eyebrows at the muggle boy, indicating that he ought to introduce himself. It was unreasonable, really, how Scorpius could retain such haughtiness when he wanted to.

"Oh right. Forgot to introduce myself," said Gift-wrap with a silly grin. "I'm Ronald. You can call me Ronny though. All my mates do."

Oh _god_.

Of _all _the names in the whole _bloody_ world.

Carpathia couldn't restrain herself anymore. A small burst of laughter slipped out of her lips, and much to Rose's chagrin, the girl muttered a faint goodbye and darted out of view, no doubt to go and chuckle somewhere on her own.

"That's nice," intoned Rose weakly, knowing that Scorpius' head was probably bursting with wise-cracks.

He seemed to be taking a great deal of time choosing which one. Finally, in impressively even tones, he replied: "So you're into bikes, Ronny?"

"Yeah, they're brilliant."

"Yeah, can't get Rose to shut up about them," stated Scorpius, shooting a smirk at the redheaded girl.

"Maybe _you _ought to shut up," snapped Rose. Merlin, she felt so absolutely humiliated.

"Oho, touchy," exclaimed Scorpius with innocently wide eyes. "I'm Sven, by the way," he added to Gift-Wrap (no, _Ronald_, Rose amended with an internal groan) "But you can call me Scorpius. All my mates do."

Poor, stupid Gift-Wrap was too obtuse to notice that Scorpius was so obviously taking the piss on him. "That's cool. Are you in a gang too?" he asked, his brow furrowing quizzically.

"Oh yeah," replied Scorpius with a straight face, "We're a bit new on the London scene, but we're getting there. But it's hard, y'know, with Libra changing bikes ever couple months and my mate Pisces getting a hip replacement. People really don't understand how stressful this business is."

"Yeah, yeah," agreed Gift-Wrap, still looking rather puzzled but nodding along nevertheless. Rose wanted to smack herself in the face. "I do like the Zodiac idea you lot have going though. It's really creative."

"Ah, well. Zodiac, Horoscope. Same thing, innit?" said Scorpius, not even bothering to attempt to disguise the sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Rose had had enough.

"Alright, we're leaving," she said in icy, clipped tones, hooking her arm through Scorpius' and dragging him away from the poor, confused boy. "I'll call you!" she shouted over her shoulder, not attempting to dissuade his protests that he hadn't left her his number nor she his.

When they were a sizable distance away, she wrenched her arm away from his and shoved him with all her might. To her added fury, his face was still contorted with silent laughter.

"Do you like ruining things for me, Malfoy?" she asked, her voice quivering. He was still laughing, but his eyes flickered slightly over her expression when he registered the deadened coldness of her voice. "Well, guess what. You've won. You've _bloody_ won. I know that's what you've always wanted so now you can have everything. I regret knowing you. I regret ever talking to you. From now on, we don't have to speak or look at each other. I _hate _you."

She finished the sentence with more vehemence than she'd ever known she possessed. To her shame, there were tears pooling at the edge of her eyes. The last few months had been nothing but a whirlwind mix of incensed emotions and disgraceful flutterings of her heart and now all these accumulated thoughts and feeling (the anger, the confusion, the godforsaken spurt of _affection_) had assembled together in one burst of heat.

He looked gobsmacked. His blue eyes wide and filled with a thousand unvoiced opinions, his mouth slightly ajar. His pale, perfect hands fell slack down his sides, curled halfway through as though he wanted to clench his fists but couldn't.

And then Rose couldn't look anymore. Couldn't bear the idea of trying to figure out what this horrible, beautiful boy was thinking anymore. So she simply did what she thought she should've done since the beginning of the day:

She turned and left him standing there.

AAA.

Rose had already left to go home. Al couldn't comprehend why she hadn't bothered waiting for him, but Scorpius had languidly informed him that she'd been feeling ill.

Accepting the explanation with cautiousness, Al resorted to observing Scorpius' changed behavior, which now seemed strangely subdued. Nevertheless, he said goodbye to Carpathia—who gave no mention of what had proceeded while he'd been away except to offer him a knowing smile and a promise to see him on the platform.

As Carpathia departed, Al found himself alone with Malfoy again, only this time the atmosphere had changed.

"So I'll see you around, then?" Al said hesitantly, wondering what was on the blond boy's mind that was making him so distracted.

Scorpius' head swiveled around and gave him a half-hearted smile. "Obviously. We live together, don't we?"

He was trying to be offhanded and aloof again, thought Al. _Trying_ being the operative word, and Scorpius never tried anything unless he had a reason to.

"One more thing, Potter."

"Yeah?" Al inquired expectantly.

Scorpius was silent for a few moments, and then he said: "Do you think I could write to you?"

He had definitely not been expecting this. Al let several seconds pass before finding his tongue-"I, gah."

What was he supposed to say? No? Al didn't have the heart, especially after knowing what the boy was going through by himself this summer. He had a suspicion he'd been the only person Scorpius had confided in.

He replied with firmness. "Sure, Malfoy."

Scorpius gave him a solemn look in response. He looked the picture of nonchalance, with his hands stuffed in his pockets and every hair in place, but Al knew that he was grateful and that this was the closest he would get to a thank you. "See you next year then."

"Yeah. See you."

**AAA. **

**Apologizing again for the delay. I've been crammed with midterms lately, and I decided to expand this chapter halfway through I was writing it, which made it a little more difficult to keep going along the original train of thought. So I decided to do a little more smatterings of bromance, and you got to see the Granger household (which is fairly not touched upon in most fanfics). Hope you enjoyed it! **

**THE NEXT CHAPTER will be coming up soon, though, because it'll be rather short. **

**Some other things to look forward to:**

**Sixth year (get ready for some drinking-hormonal-sexual-tension madness!) **

**Carpathia finding a bloke who might actually not be a complete arseface **

**AND…**

**Louis Weasley (dun dun dun) **

**As always, reviews are so very much appreciated. **

**Love, **

**~MissusWitch **


	14. Interlude: Letters

**Interlude: Letters**

**AAA. **

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its Next Gen characters (except for the OC's) belongs to JKR; I just tinker-tanker. **

Potter,

I've been ridiculously bored lately, so I thought it might be fun to be an annoying prick and nag you for the remainder of our holiday.

In all honesty though, my owl's getting quite fat, and you did say I could write you.

-S.H.M

_AAA. _

**Malfoy, **

**I didn't think you were actually serious. At any rate, mailing by owl is the sort of thing **_**you'd**_** do, even though practically everybody's using email nowadays. **

**Do you even know what email is? **

**Nevermind. Since I guess we're actually doing this, I guess I should tell you what's been happening round the house. James is a Cannon now, though I can't say I'm surprised. He's been lording it over the rest of us with his new kit and uniform, which is driving me absolutely barmy. It hasn't even crossed his mind that the Cannons are only third in the League. **

**Lily's been a good sport about it. She put itching powder into his briefs the other day and he was in so much torture mum had to send him to St. Mungo's. Didn't stop her from laughing about it with the rest of us though. **

** Got my official O.W.L certificates today. Aced potions, naturally, but I barely made it past DADA. I had to drop Transfiguration and Care of Magical Creatures too. Since I'm actually taking the time to write you, I bloody well hope you're not going to throw it all back in my face by making a snide remark, though I wouldn't put it past you. **

** I'm meeting Drew and Rowan in a couple days at Diagon Alley for the new Dragontail. Dad's finally agreed to replace my old broomstick since I'm finally an NEWT student. It's going to be brilliant. Apparently, the Spanish Nationals are ordering a full set for their team. I'll send you a magazine from Quality Quidditch Supplies if you'd like. **

**Well. This has been odd. I'm at a bit of a loss of what to say now. I guess I'll look forward to your reply soon? **

**And since I know you're going to ask, Isabel **_**has **_**been coming 'round a lot lately. **

**And her tits feel fantastic. **

**Cheers,  
>Albus Potter<strong>

_AAA. _

Potter,

I know what email is, you prat. Like I said, I've just got an owl that's getting a little too comfortable sitting in her nest. I doubt someone with nine O.W.L's (four of which were Outstandings and none below an EE, by the way) wouldn't know what bloody _email_ is.

As you might have noticed, I tactfully avoided commenting on your O.W.L scores, though _some_ might think that getting below an Acceptable in Transfiguration is utterly disgraceful and might degrade a person to having an IQ borderline to a potato.

Not me, of course.

Anyway, apart from sitting on my mound of gold here at home, I've been deciding what to do about my parents. I caught dear old mum at it with one of the Ministry officials in the fencing room (Yes, we have a fencing room. You, Potter, may have the most coveted broomstick known to man, but I, Scorpius Malfoy, can brandish swords in Shakespearean fashion whenever I like). I couldn't remember the old chap's name-it was something like Hornby or Horensly-but he was supposed to come by and confiscate our old chalices, probably 'cause Voldemort was notorious for getting smashed drinking out of them.

Now I know why our chalices are still hanging around the manor.

I don't think Father knows yet. That his wife's been an adulterous whore, I mean (the Bible's words, not mine). Any advice on the matter?

-S.H.M

P.S. I'm glad to know Marrieto's tits haven't fallen off yet from lack of use. Or maybe girls do find uses for them when they're not getting felt up. I really should ask my mother someday on the matter.

P.P.S. How's Weasley doing?

_AAA. _

**Malfoy, **

**I'm sorry to hear what happened. I reckon you should talk to your mum before anything else. At least hear what she has to say about it and give her a chance to tell your dad herself. If she won't, then I hate to say this, but your mum's a _ (very nasty word; not going to say it myself, but it's the one often associated with a female of the canine variety). **

**You might have noticed there's a poster attached. It's Abram Afanasi on the new Dragontail, and yes, that's his autograph. As you pointed out, we do live together so I know he's your favorite player. This has NOTHING to do with pity by the way, because I would never spend my money on you, Malfoy. I just happened to have a couple of these lying around 'cause, y'know, I'm so rich and famous and thought you might like one. **

**So take the damn poster, ok?**

**Anyway, dad got a bit worked up the other day because the Aurors want him back in office. Something about following up on another set of leads because they'd come across 'suspicious activity'. Dad actually told Regis Llewellyn to fuck off because he'd finally found some peace and quiet and the department was just getting their knickers in a twist over nothing. Love it when dad uses that type of language. **

**Have you heard anything from the Notts? Can't believe term's starting in two weeks. **

**-Al **

**P.S. What does it mean when a girl says she's 'ready for the next step'? **

**P.P.S. Rose is fine, I reckon. She got into a strop with her dad the other night though. Had to do with coming home too late with Amanda Longbottom and a couple of muggle blokes. Still hasn't mentioned you at all during our trash-talk sessions, which are riveting by the way. **

_AAA._

Potter,

You might have heard by now, but _as it turns out_, mum and dad _aren't_ Death-Eater fanatics! _Shocker!_

I have to say I'm a tad bit disappointed though. At least the Manor would have been less dull if there were new Horcruxes popping up in the hallways every now and then. Gotta hand it to our esteemed government. Their professionalism has just been so fanfuckingtastic (so _what_ if they got it wrong the last four times, eh?).

Luckily, we've still got some decent Wizarding folk hanging around this bloody country. Abram Afanasi, for instance, would be a prime example. Not saying that your gift was anything special, but I damn well won't be returning that poster any time soon.

The Notts got cleared as well, apparently. Had a run-in with Gareth and Carpathia the other day at Potage's Cauldrons. Looks like you'll be seeing your chum alive and well on the Hogwarts Express if the Notts haven't fixed her up with anyone yet.

Only joking, Potter. We don't do that sort of thing anymore.

I do have a question about our pal Lucas though. The Rosiers still haven't been released, and word going around is that Daddy Rosier is going to trial at Wizengamot. Care to help fill me in on what's going on?

On a final note, I decided to take your advice and confront old mum on the recent usage of her libido. By 'confront' I mean that I got into a shouting match and, ah, _accidentally_ let slip that particular nasty word of the canine variety. I might've let loose a couple of other equally nasty words too. You might know the one that's often associated with pastry (I'll give you a hint, fruit _).

Now we're not on speaking terms. Oops.

-S.H.M

P.S. She wants a shag, idiot.

P.P.S. Out of curiosity, was Ronny the Biker one of these charming gents? I would be shocked. Didn't think Weasley had it in her to go out with square-faced Neanderthals.

**AAA. **

**Malfoy,**

**Why am I entirely unsurprised you handled your mum's situation completely wrong? I reckon you should probably go apologize and tell her how you feel about it. I assume Malfoys have feelings, right? **

**I'm glad to hear the Malfoys and the Notts are in the clear. I tried owling Thia a couple times but all my letters were sent back with the envelopes open. Someone had even taken the time to write 'Bugger off, twat' on one. Probably her father, I imagine. I always heard he was a bit rough 'round the edges, but I never thought he could be such a _ (nasty word coinciding with a popular name from elementary English books. Hint: see Jane run, see _ run). **

**These euphemisms are getting quite creative. **

**Anyway, I couldn't wait to bring the next subject up as a post-script, so I've gone and made it the main gist of this letter. As surprising as it is, I think you might be right about the shagging bit. **

**I thought you might've been pulling my leg, but I had just about the weirdest conversation with Izzie the other day. Out of the blue, she asks me if I've "ever been with anyone else". So then I ask her if this has anything to do with "taking another step" and she goes on and talks about how she cares a great deal about me and that "if it was anyone, she would've wanted it to be me". I'm sitting there gawking like an imbecile, and then she says: **

"**I don't mind if you've been with anyone else, Al. I'd just like to know about it. You'd like to know if it was me, right?" **

**I wanted to know whether she was talking about sex or dating in general, but she looked pretty damn embarrassed about everything and it sounded like she had something important to say. Then, of course, my ruddy cousins barged in and that all went to rot. Merlin, I hate large families. **

**I'm not being a complete berk for thinking its sex, right? And if it is, I, er, don't really know how I'd go about doing it. I reckon we might be a bit young, and Izzie's a year younger so I'd feel even more guilty about it. That's not to say that I don't want to, but I want to do it properly. **

**I know what you're going to say. I'm an idiot. But give me some advice; I know you've got plenty to share. **

**I gotta run now. Apparently, we're picking another one of my cousins up from Heathrow. My whole family thinks you're my new Tunisian penpal, by the way. It was the only way I could explain the amount of letters coming in and out. **

**Cheers,  
>Al <strong>

**P.S. Bloody hell I forgot to answer your questions. Asked dad about the Rosiers. Apparently, they found incriminating evidence that Evan Rosier was connected to that exploding subway cart incident a couple years back. Remember that? It was all over the muggle papers. A ministry official found an Orb of Gherruin hiding in his closet—apparently, one of the rare objects well-known for causing mass explosions at will. Rosier's insisting it was a gift from Thaddeus Nott, but then again, the Notts are in the clear so no one's taking his word seriously. **

**God, I hope Lucas is alright. **

**P.P.S. I'm surprised you haven't said a word about Chantal. Have you two called it quits yet? **

**P.P.P.S. Who the hell is Ronny the Biker? **

_AAA. _

Potter,

Damn right it's sex, and if you don't know how to go about it, I suggest going to the nearest bookstore and having a go at the parenthood section. If that fails, take a long hot bath and hope your balls grow a little bigger. Honestly, the girl's practically throwing herself at you. And if that's the case, don't assume Marrieto's as young and innocent as she seems. That whole conversation was much too dodgy for you to think _her_ past is as crystal-virgin-clear as yours.

As for the doing it properly issue, I reckon there's no use in planning sex. Let it happen spontaneously. That's when it gets right fucking amazing.

On the whole, though, I'm pleased you've acknowledged my sexual superiority to yours.

This is going to be a short one. Father's a bit peeved at the owls going in and out, and he's had half a mind to lock them all up. I don't think it'd improve his mood to see I'm writing about our family affairs to a Potter (or to anyone from Tunisia, for that matter).

For the love of Merlin, I'm going insane in this house. If I have to hear my parents bickering again, I'm going to blow up the fucking armory.

-S.H.M

P.S. Just got the news. Rosier's on probation, but otherwise he's let go. I wonder when the hell it's going to get into their heads that no pureblood is _that_ thick to try anything anymore. You realize that all the boys in our dorm have been under Ministry scrutiny?

Except you, Potter. _You_ actually got a bloody holiday.

P.P.S. I don't feel the need to mention Chantal because nothing at all has changed, really. She wrote a couple times, the dear girl, but it's all France and carriages and pretty ponies with that one. I don't know why you keep having this ridiculous idea in your head about us calling quits. You can't _call quits_ with a girl if she's not your girlfriend, can you?

P.P.P.S. My thoughts exactly.

_AAA. _

**Malfoy, **

**Some new family affairs. Apparently, the cousin I picked up at Heathrow the other day is transferring to Hogwarts this year. His name's Louis and he's from the French bit of the family. You remember Head Girl Victoire? Yeah, that's her brother. **

**Rose and I are quite pleased about it, actually. We never understood why Louis was shipped off to Beauxbatons when both Vic and Dominique went to Hogwarts. Don't really know why he's back now, but it had something to do with him causing trouble with a couple of blokes in his year. At any rate, my aunt thought it'd be best if he stayed close to home. **

**Louis is a great chap, though. He's bloody brilliant sometimes and funny as hell. Not to mention he's got Veela blood so I reckon half the girls in school will be in love with him before term's out. **

**The other day he sorted out a problem Rose had with one of the blokes she'd been seeing this summer. Let me tell you, this guy was **_**mental**_**. Apparently, he was a waiter she'd met at some café and they'd fooled around for a couple weeks before she called it off. Needless to say, he didn't handle it very well. He called loads of times, asking what "private girls' school" she was going off to in Scotland and listing out a whole lot of names. That was weird enough, but then it got **_**really**_** mental when he started following her. **

**It was the last straw when he tried following her back to her house, so Louis showed up at the door in nothing but a towel and asked him "if he wanted to have a good time". Poor bloke was so scared shitless he buggered off and we never saw him again. It was a good laugh, though I bloody well think Rose has finally learned a lesson. **

**Cheers, **

**Al **

**P.S. I really don't understand how your relationships work. Period. **

_AAA. _

Potter,

Is French Weasley better looking than me?

**-**S.H.M

P.S. What a surprise, Weasley's a bitch.

_AAA. _

**Malfoy, **

**Did you really just fly your owl all the way here to deliver that message? I don't even know how to answer that. **

**As for the Rose comment, I'm going to pretend I didn't read that because there's obviously still some weird shit going on between the two of you and I can't be buggered to figure it out. **

**Anyway, term's starting in a couple days. I reckon when we go back to school everything will go back to normal, eh? **

**Cheers, **

**Al **

_AAA. _

Potter,

Shit hit the fan (Well, not that there's a fan here in the Manor, since we have round-the-clock Cooling Charms).

I don't really know who else to write to, since Gareth isn't taking any letters, and I figure this is more of a company-seeking endeavor rather than a necessity. I realize it's late, so you'll probably get a chance to look at this in the morning. It's about time my owl had a rest, anyway.

I blew up the armory. Couldn't bloody handle mother and father arguing anymore, so I made brilliant whopping wreck out of Father's precious collection. Did you know that I actually own the sword Salazar Slytherin wielded at the Siege of Varrelyn? Well, it looks more like a horseshoe now since I've bent it all out of shape.

Anyway, Father went berserk when he saw the mess. Mother stormed in after him and went berserk with him. I mean, the whole scene was so bloody hypocritical (both of them yelling about something that _I'd_ done wrong) that I just had to blurt it out.

So I did. You should have seen Father's face, like all the blood had drained out of it. And then I called Mother a (nasty word associated with the canine variety) and a (nasty word associated with a pastry). I threw in a couple more words there too, most of which I could probably find euphemisms for but I can't be fucked at this moment in time.

Remember what I told you about how intense my father is about my mum? Well, he couldn't believe it. _Literally_. Because after Mum denied it, like the sorry bitch (oops, slipped up there) that she is, that was enough for him. So there I was, the son who had wrecked his Father's armory and accused his Mother of all sorts of horrible, truthful crimes, and overall just a giant, fucking failure.

And Father lost it. I won't go into detail, but it was painful.

After that, I lost it. Packed up my bags, swiped my owl and my bank key, and got the hell out of there. Now I'm sitting here in this dingy room at the Leaky Cauldron (cheap, I know, but I took the premium suite so there), and I reckon I'll stay here for a couple nights until September 1st.

This is probably the last of my letters because I'm going to try and save up on post, but I'd just like you to know that I'm grateful. Without these stupid letters, I don't think I would've made it through with my sanity.

To answer your question, of course everything will be normal again. Couldn't have you thinking we were friends or something equally ridiculous.

-S.H.M

_AAA. _

**Malfoy, **

**You're probably the only person I know who could handle something like that. Anybody else and I'd be worried. **

**It's two days till term starts so I reckon you'll be fine on your own. You'll have plenty to do. Maybe you could go and have a look at the new Dragontail yourself at Diagon Alley. Or, god forbid, you could get some homework done. **

**I know you'll never say yes, but I feel inclined to offer anyway. If something like this happens again during Christmas, you're welcome to visit the Potters. We don't have a fencing room or anything, but we have some damn good food. You might even get along with my mum. Just a thought. **

**It's been a great deal of fun, Malfoy. Granted, you've been a prick, but what's new? **

**See you at Hogwarts. **

**Cheers, **

**Al **

**P.S. No, I could never think we were friends. **

**AAA. **

**I did promise a fast update, didn't I? **

**One of my favorite interludes ****, if not my favorite. I hope you enjoyed that, because I had a great time writing it. **

**Thanks to hphilgreen and Classified for your speedy feedback! I'll try to please you for what I have planned in the next couple chapters. **

**Next chapter: Sixth Year commences. **

**Reviews are treasured beyond compare. **

**Love, **

**~MissusWitch **


	15. Changes, For Better or Worse

**Chapter 15: Change, For Better or Worse **

**And I'm back. To loyal fans, expect about a two-week update between each chapter. Sorry, that's the best I can do, especially with uni projects piling on.**

**This is a bit of a filler chapter, though quite an important one since it introduces new characters and plotlines—kind of like the premiere of season 3 of Game of Thrones. Not that I'm saying this fic compares at all to GOT, because GOT is f****** brilliant and **_**incomparably awesome**_** (I may have a problem). **

**Also, a few of you have been PM-ing me about why this fic doesn't have higher stats. I really don't have the answer to that, but I'm hoping it will! **

**Generally, I've noticed Next Gen fics aren't as well-received on as some others, but here's to change. **

**(hint: more reviews, please). **

**Anyway, to recap: **

** Scorpius caught his mum cheating on his dad and decided to leave home for a couple days in an angsty fashion. Al wants to know if Isabel would like to have sex with him, but being the awfully naïve boy that he is, doesn't know how to go about it. Rose has real issues on how to deal with feelings. Carpathia hasn't been heard for awhile now, but she and Al are really buddying it up. **

**Also, Louis Weasley has left Beauxbatons for some mysterious reason and is now attending Hogwarts. **

**AAA. **

**Disclaimer: All next gen characters (except for my OC's) belong to JKR; I just tinker-tanker. **

At this point, returning to Hogwarts for the sixth time was no longer anything special. There was a term for this; the seventh years during Head Girl Victoire's regime had dubbed such a mentality as the 'Sixth-Year Slump'. A depressing coinage, because it basically meant that sixth year contained all the rigorous workload of an N.E.W.T student with none of the previleges of being an upperclassmen since they were one step down from being top of the pyramid.

As per tradition, the sixth years arrived at Hogwarts with a weary "lets get it over with" attitude. The first few weeks of school passed by in a blur of settling into new classrooms and new responsibilities, the most predominant of which was attempting to absorb the new N.E.W.T syllabuses. It was all very proper and dull.

But change was afoot.

The student body received a pleasant surprise when it was announced that Charlie Weasley would be taking Professor Fenwig's spot in Care of Magical Creatures. Professor Fenwig had apparently decided last-minute to go on sabbatical in efforts to examine a rare fire-sprouting plant growing in the Amazonias. This caused a titter amongst the female population, for Charlie had aged quite nicely over the years and now resembled a slightly older version of famed Dragon-Wrestler, Xavier Ponte (Many were now quite disappointed for having dropped Care of Magical Creatures as a subject).

All the more surprising (and pleasant) was the appearance of Louis Weasley. And if the arrival of Charlie had caused titters, then the arrival of Louis had comparatively created a storm.

AAA.

Louis was handsome. Extraordinarily so.

He had the look of a hero that had materialized out of a romance novel, all wiry build and golden-haired and eyes the color of sea glass. Such colorful accolades were among the numerous descriptions that had radiated across the far ends of Hogwarts since his arrival. Few remembered his sister Victoire at this point, but those who did stipulated that the resemblance was undeniable. For Rose, this was a rather peculiar observation because for years she'd thought Louis had looked nothing like his sisters. While Victoire and Dominique had been all sleek-haired and pale-skinned, Louis possessed a lush healthy tone to his complexion (no doubt facilitated by the hours he had spent lounging under the French sun instead of studying) and his golden locks fell askew around his head in a beautiful mess.

There was something also more _human_ about his expressions too. The way his cheeks flushed easily, for example, and the uncanny twinkle in his eye that never went away. As a male, the supernatural element was much more diluted in Louis's looks.

That didn't stop the Veela blood in him from working its other forms of magic. For days on end, girls of all ages trailed after him in what they assumed was an inconspicuous manner, giggling to each other and bursting into laughter when he shot looks their way. Even the girls in Rose's dormitory would occasionally pause whatever they were working on to bother her incessantly about Louis Weasley's habits and pet peeves.

_What sort of girls do you reckon he fancies, that Louis? Or Lou? That's what you call him at home, don't you, Rose? Lou? _

With the exception of Carpathia Nott, of course. But even her nonchalance could not disguise the way her eyes flickered unabashedly to Rose whenever her cousin was the subject of attention in the room. Louis simply had that effect on people. He was funny, he was lighthearted (not to mention, he didn't have an _ounce_ of ambition on him to weigh him down) and he occupied space like a burst of light.

So what possible reason did Beauxbatons have for not wanting him around?

Rose had pondered this question excessively over this summer and prodded her cousins about it, but all Dominique had disclosed was that Louis had gotten into a vicious scuffle with one of the boys at school that had resulted in both of them being hospitalized. Which, of course, was puzzling because Louis didn't have a single violent bone in his body.

Naturally, Rose had attempted to bring up the issue up with Louis himself.

"Hey, Lou," she'd said as airily as possible during the last family dinner they'd had before term started. "What happened over there at Beauxbatons? Not saying that you wouldn't like old Hoggers, but we always thought you were too posh for it."

As she uttered the question, Al had lowered his fork and raised his eyebrows inquisitively at Louis. He, too, had been waiting patiently for an explanation.

At the mention of Beauxbatons, Louis had subconsciously tugged down the sleeve of his left arm. Rose had noticed this was a habit he'd culminated lately, which made her wonder if the jagged scar she'd seen on that arm had been a result of the 'vicious scuffle.'

But the boy had simply grinned. "I'd tell you, but it's a matter of national security. Can't have another Anglo-French war on our hands again."

"I'm _serious_, Lou."

"So am I. It's a godforsakeningly boring story and I wouldn't want Al to fall asleep in his soup."

"You're _really_ not going to tell us anything? Honestly, we're _family_ though-"

"Drop it, Rose." The sharp edge to his voice had caught Rose by surprise. The flash of antagonism in his eyes, too, was something rarely encountered with Louis, which made her think that under these circumstances it would be wise to simply do what she was told. So she did drop it. And never brought up the subject again.

Since then, Louis had assimilated nicely into Hogwarts culture. Beauxbatons had been a very straight-laced, orderly place and he reveled in the castle's odd smatterings of trick staircases, secret passages and rooms behind tapestries. As Rose and Al had demonstrated through the Marauder's Map, these nooks and crannies proved to Louis to be extremely useful when he was trying to escape the attention from his new entourage of females.

There was one cultural disparity Louis had been struggling to cope with, and that the concept of the four Houses. He'd been sorted into Ravenclaw (following Dominique's footsteps) and still could not grasp the idea why sleeping arrangements, house teams, and even the point system had to be so segregated.

"At Beauxbatons, they only had two sections of the school split between boys and girls. Not that that stopped anything from happening, of course," he'd explained with a smirk.

This, above all, was probably the reason why he'd beaten Scorpius Malfoy (much to the Slytherin's _utmost_ fury) as the most fanciable boy of their year. Slytherin girls, once having realized that Louis hadn't grown up like the other Weasleys, now placed themselves along with the other Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs in vying for his affections. Because, by Hogwarts' standards, Louis Weasley was now Switzerland.

A very hot Switzerland.

AAA.

"How do you find classes?" inquired Rose, flopping down on the grassy banks near the lake on an exceptionally hot Wednesday afternoon. She scooted slightly towards the shadow of a beech tree, aching for an extra smidgen of shade.

"Stupid," responded Louis, settling himself down in an equal fashion, albeit much more gracefully. "Charms was a waste of time. Vipula's nice though."

Rose snorted. "_Nice_?"

"Yeah. You don't think so?"

"She's probably in love with you like everyone else." After a beat, Rose speculated: "Say, would you like to swap DNA sometime?"

Louis hooted with laughter. "Right, yeah. Maybe _you_ can take the crazy fan-girls off my hands for awhile." He squinted in discomfort as the sun pierced through the clouds and a scorching beam landed on his face. "_C'est incroyable_, why is it so bloody hot?" His shirt came off over his head easily, and he slipped on a pair of shades over his eyes without further ado.

Rose watched her cousin bathing comfortably into the sunlit grass with amusement. "Why do I get the feeling your grades at Beauxbatons weren't really up-to-par with Auntie Fleur's standards?"

"Can't imagine why," deadpanned Louis with a faint grin on his lips. "_Maman's_ always been off her rocker."

"Clearly."

"Do you know what class I do like though?"

"What?"

Louis smiled mischievously. "Divination."

Rose kicked him quite hard in the shin, prompting him to yelp. "That's the most bullshit class there is, Lou! You can't honestly tell me you're learning anything."

"Don't kick, Rose, physical tamperament can cloud the Inner Eye. But no, seriously, I'm learning loads. And—wait for it—here's the kicker-" he paused, and then continued on rather triumphantly: "Professor Sarabande is _French_."

Rose groaned and buried her head in her hands. "You're the worst student I know."

"Who's the worst student?" chirped the voice of Amanda Longbottom. Rose twisted her head and saw her friend looking quite lovely in a cherry-blossom sundress with her short brown hair curled around the nape of her neck. "You're not trying to steal the title away from me, are you, Louis?"

She seemed chirpier than usual, though it probably had to do with the fact that the Louis' shirt was discarded near her feet.

"Nobody can steal the title from you, Mands," intoned Rowan from behind her, and his brown face appeared as a stark contrast next to the rosy-cheeked girl. His eyes went to Rose first, as usual, and when she smiled at him he smiled back.

_Bless him, he keeps growing_, thought Rose. Where was that stick-skinny boy she'd known throughout her childhood? His upper arms had definitely filled out, not to mention there was a firm shadow to his jaw that hadn't been there the year before. And—good lord—was that a light peppering of _stubble_?

"Hey there, Thomas," said Louis, sitting up with a bright look on his face and promptly interrupting Rose's thoughts. Being two Ravenclaws with mutual Gryffindor friends, it was only natural the two of them became quite well acquainted.

"Wotcher, mate," grinned Rowan in reply. "Mands, stop gawking and take a bloody seat."

"I wasn't-" spluttered Amanda, tearing her eyes away from Louis with a tinge of red in her cheeks. She settled down on the grass with a small _flump,_ muttering indiscreetly beneath her breath.

"What was that?" inquired Rowan, pretending to be hard of hearing as he leaned over to her. She shoved his head away firmly.

"I _said_, I've got a boyfriend and I'm not a tart." She flashed Louis an apologetic look. "Really."

"S'alright," said Louis, unfazed. "It's not your fault." It wasn't a comment generated out of arrogance, as something Malfoy would have done, but more of a truth that the boy was acknowledging.

"Besides," added on Amanda with a smug look on her face. "I don't want to point fingers or anything, but if anyone's a tart, it would be the redhead."

There was a silence as all three heads shifted towards Rose, who was now glaring daggers at Amanda. Louis let out a guffaw.

Rowan raised an eyebrow. "I thought there was just the one bloke this summer, Red. You know, the one Louis here had to clean up. What was his name-" He snapped his fingers, to which Louis responded with quirked lips:

"_Stanley_," quipped the curly-haired boy with a nostalgic sigh. "Stanley the waiter."

"Right. That," nodded Rowan in agreement. "Did I miss something, or did one bloke become tart-worthy status?"

"Oh it wasn't just _one-_" began Amanda wickedly.

"I'm hungry," announced Rose loudly, glancing desperately at Rowan. "Merlin, it's almost one and I haven't eaten lunch yet. Who wants lunch? Join me for lunch?"

"There was that cute diver she met at the pool," continued Amanda thoughtfully, swatting Rose away rather dismissively as the redhead attempted to smother the girl's mouth. "Then, the Year 13 student from St. Percival's. The bloke she met at Mark's and Spencer's-Grocer Boy, isn't that what you called him? Oh, and Ronny the Biker, of course-"

"You forgot Welsh Winston," noted Louis without moving an inch.

"Oh right. _Who _could forget Welsh Winston_-_"

"Are you joking?" said Rowan in disbelief, rounding on Rose with widened eyes. "Merlin's beard, Red. That many this summer?"

"I've had a very long, very hard year," relented Rose with a groan.

"She's _long_ past the stage of getting over Carter now," smirked Amanda, and Rose said nothing in order to mean her assent. She could feel Rowan's inquisitive eyes on her, like a silent question mark, and knew that he hadn't forgotten her words on the train last year. _I can't tell you who it is, please believe me. It would make it real. _

Her eyes traveling to the distance, she spotted a familiar dark figure and felt a swell of relief.

"Thia! Over here!" she shouted, beckoning the welcome distraction with a wave. The raven-haired figure halted in her tracks at the sound of her voice, indicating that she'd heard. Slowly, it headed in their direction until the fully-fledged form of Carpathia appeared before them.

"Hi?" the girl sounded wholly uncertain about her arrival, her eyes darting between the faces staring up at her from the ground. Rose marveled at the fact how despite the boiling temperatures, Carpathia managed to pull off a skin-tight black cotton shirt without a drop of sweat.

"Hello Carpathia," greeted Amanda cheerfully, scooting over to make more room for their fellow Gryffindor roommate. Carpathia obliged with a faint smile.

"Hi, Amanda."

Louis had finally mustered the strength to sit up from his lying position on the ground to appraise the newcomer. His eyebrows slowly disappeared above his hairline as he registered Carpathia's overall appearance of pale skin, black attire, and the shock of magenta and blue in her hair. Admittedly, no one else at Hogwarts looked like her.

"Where you off to next?" asked Rose.

"Care of Magical Creatures," replied Carpathia, and Amanda made an 'oooh' sound that now often accompanied the class title, courtesy of its new professor. "I know what you're going to ask," the girl continued with a wry smile as Amanda opened her mouth. "And yes, Charlie's quite brilliant. Not just his leather pants."

"Is it true they're dragon-hide?" inquired Amanda in a hushed voice. "Does he wear them every class?"

"Sometimes he altnerates between that and a loincloth," said Carpathia with a dead serious look on her face, and Louis smiled as Amanda's jaw dropped. "I'm joking, you know that right?"

Amanda closed her mouth with a slightly miffed expression. "Rumor mill's gone mental nowadays. You never know anymore."

"Really? It doesn't seem like there's been much happening nowadays. School's just started," yawned Rose, now glad that they were on a subject that had finally strayed away from her illustrious summer endeavors.

"This is _Hogwarts_ we're talking about, Rosie-Red. There's never an era of peace."

"Our walking tabloid's on the loose," remarked Rowan sardonically, earning a hard look from Amanda.

"Oh _hush_, Thomas. Everybody's interested in gossip, even when they pretend not to be. It's a way of living vicariously through others."

Rowan rolled his eyes. "Have at it, then."

"Well, for starters, Tricia MacDavor finally admitted to slagging it off with Zane Pemberton. That girl has got a terrible habit of going off with her mates' boyfriends, thank _god_ we're not in her year. Anyway, there was a terrible ruckus about it in Transfiguration and Professor Fell was _so_ furious that-" Amanda stopped, exasperated. "Are you lot even listening?"

When silent greeted her words, she let out a frustrated puff of air and continued a little more haughtily, "Alright then, _moving _on. I got _this_ interesting tidbit from Dominique-"

"Sounds credible," commented Louis cheerfully from the ground.

"—well, I have no idea whether it's true or not, but_ apparently_, Malfoy has finally split up with Chantal-"

"What?" the word ripped out of Rose's mouth before she had a chance to shove it back down her throat. Oh, curse her stupid, stupid mind. Why did it suddenly seem like all her efforts with Stanley, Ronny, Winston, whatever, hadn't mattered at _all_?

"Scorpius and Chantal have always be rather fickle," said Carpathia skeptically, "Maybe this is just their off-phase."

"No, no, Dominique said this was different," said Amanda earnestly, determined to prove that her information wasn't totally useless. "_Everyone _saw it happening in the third-floor corridor just yesterday. For whatever reason, the two of them were having a rather keen shouting match and then Malfoy just spouted out that he'd," she lifted up her hands to form two quotation marks for dramatic effect, " 'Had a change of heart' and that he didn't want to continue with whatever it was they were doing because she was a prissy control freak with barely a teaspoon of self-respect. Then, of course, Chantal flew into an absolute rage and told everyone how Malfoy had a lot of nerve talking to her like that… and that he had a lot to live up to, the way he was marketing his own package," Amanda burst into giggles at this point, "It all sounds rather funny. I wish I'd been there to see it…"

Rose had been staring at the same patch of grass for the last two minutes, feeling oddly detached from everyone around her. _Had a change of heart?_ What on earth could that possibly—

"Well, knowing Malfoy, they're probably snogging in a broom cupboard right now," said Rowan lightly.

Yes, that was an excellent point. Rowan was absolutely right. With significant effort, Rose met the eyes of her friends and nodded in agreement.

"Chantal…" Louis mused thoughtfully, deciding to join in on the conversation by sitting up and shaking off pieces of grass from his shirt. "This wouldn't happen to be Chantal Gerhardt, by any chance?"

"You know her?" inquired Amanda with surprise. "Oh right, the whole…Beauxbatons thing."

"Vaguely. I remember hearing the name in my second year…" then, Louis's face smoothed over as though a thought had suddenly occurred to him and a wide, almost incredulous smile spread across his features. "_No. _I mean, it can't be. She was the one who…" His voice trailed off with a small chuckle, and he shook his head in wonder.  
>"What?" prodded Amanda eagerly. "What is it?"<p>

Louis shot her a look and his lips curved upwards. "I'd rather not say. It was a long time ago, anyway."

"Oh come _on, _Louis. Nobody has any dirt on Chantal Gerhardt, and she's a massive c-"

"I think what he means to say," cut in Carpathia calmly, "Is that it's probably better if some things were kept quiet. We don't want to be starting wars anytime soon."

"My words exactly," nodded Louis with an appreciative smile. He finally took off his shades, allowing his eyes-unbeknownst to Carpathia—to furtively glance over the girl again.

Amanda grumbled. "Well, if it's true, Malfoy ought to be thrilled that he's rid of her."

_Rid of her. Rid of Chantal. _Chantal had never particularly bothered Rose in terms of her relationship with Malfoy (She had disliked the girl for a multitude of other reasons, reasons like, well, her entire personality), but if the rumors for once proved to be true…did it mean something?

Rose felt a slight tickle near her elbow, and looked up to see Rowan holding up a blade of grass with a mischievous grin.

Her face relaxed into a smile. All was normal. It meant nothing.

AAA.

_I hate tryouts. _

"Walk it off, Frazer," declared Al in weary tones, clapping his gloves half-heartedly as a lanky fourth-year with matted blond hair and a bludgeoned nose stumbled off the pitch rather dazedly. "Yep, just hand over the Quaffle to Nyx over there and head straight to Madam Curatis. There's a good lad…"

He wasn't even holding his _broomstick _right. Al scanned the pitch with an internal groan, noting the range of players assembled before him, all hopeful for the vacant Chaser position. Just by looking he could pick out the good ones. They were posed near the back of the group, their Quidditch kits fitted expertly on, wearing nondescript expressions and looking a great deal less nervous than the amateurs in front. Instinctively, Al would have simply asked these players to stay and the others to leave, but it didn't matter what _Al _thought. He still had to go through the formality of hosting tryouts even though it was a bloody waste of time.

Fucking school policy.

"Frazer's an idiot," came an oh-so-familiar sneer from his right. "Honestly, what Chaser doesn't know how to do a Cudgel Sweep? It's practically _elementary_."

"Stuff it, Malfoy," replied Al without looking up from his clipboard. "Next." A frail-looking girl tottered up next to Al, carrying what looked like the newest Cleansweep (they were making a so-called comeback in the industry) that was twice as large as her.

"Um, hi," she murmured softly. "I'm Eva…Wexler."

Al's head snapped up from his clipboard, an irritated expression written all over his face as he apparently hadn't heard. "I said, who's next? I haven't got all day, y'know."

At the harshness of his tone, Eva looked like she was about to piss her pants. She cleared her throat and stuttered at a marginally louder volume, "Um. S-sorry. I'm Eva…W-Wexler. I'm a, um, th-third year."

Having finally caught Al's attention, the redhead was momentarily surprised to see her there. He appraised her once-over with a slight twitch in his eyebrow. "Okay, Eva. Get up there and show me a couple goals, alright?"

The girl nodded, now looking quite green and terrified. She promptly straddled her broomstick and fluttered off the ground in a wisp of air.

Al felt Scorpius' eyes dancing on him. "Look at that. Who knew you could be such a pillock?"

Al fixed his gaze on the blond, who was lounging on the grass and looking highly satisfied with himself. "Do you remember Quidditch tryouts being this bad last year?"

"Well, last year, you didn't see the need to make everyone try-out for their positions again," pointed out Scorpius.

"Dad said it was a good idea to refresh talent every once in a while. He did the same, y'know, when he was Captain." Scorpius muttered something intelligible, to which Al responded: "Why are you complaining anyway? You're still Seeker."

"You should be sodding glad I'm still Seeker."

"Right and Katie and Gareth are still Beaters, Tobias is still Keeper, and even Nyx has progressed to becoming a near-decent Chaser so I don't really see what the problem is, Malfoy."

Scorpius opened his mouth to retort but then thought better of it, knowing that when it came to Quidditch there was nothing but preserverence from their team captain. This was a quality not to scorn, concluded Scorpius rationally.

He walked over next to Al and peered at the clipboard in the redhead's hand. "You crossed off Yaxley? We had a good run with him. He's got a wicked arm."

"An _uncontrollable _wicked arm. Almost took an eye out of Katie."

"True. And his face looks like it got shat on by a house-elf."

"_Malfoy_."

"I'm just saying that if I were the opposition, _I'd_ have no trouble aiming for him during a match."

"Trust you to be able to turn even Quidditch into something completely superficial."

Al had finally silenced Scorpius, though not out of offensiveness. The blond seemed content to listen to Al out of his own accord and had even taken to humming a rather chippy tune under his breath. This was no doubt a measure to disrupt Al's concentration, perhaps even to irritate him, but Al found himself strangely unperturbed.

Something had changed between him and Malfoy.

Upon meeting each other face-to-face the first time on the Hogwarts Express this term, they had explicitly vowed never to bring up the content of their letter-exchange that summer ("Talk about my mother again and I'll make sure you never have eyebrows again, _Potter_" were Malfoy's exact words), but it was hard for Al to repress his growing concern for the boy. There had been an abundance of letters-all embossed with the silver Malfoy crest—dropping by Scorpius' window since term began. Every morning, Al would glance over at the growing pile on his roommate's night-stand, all tossed idly aside, all unopened.

It had to be from home, concluded Al, but Scorpius had been determined not to speak about it and Al knew Scorpius' threats weren't taken idly.

So, of course, things continued as they were. Scorpius was snarky. Al was defensive. They insulted each other's families and agreed upon the facts that Al was rubbish at coursework and Scorpius possessed neither a modicum of respect for others nor a human soul.

But on occasion, they got along just fine. Occasions like these.

"Oho, down she goes," whistled Scorpius, surveying as Eva the Third-year plummeted down the ground with a shriek. She was so slight the impact only produced a bare 'thump'. "That's three sickles, Potter."

"I only agreed to bet on hospital injuries."

"And the five-minute frame. She went down in four and a half. Pay up, lad."

Al grumbled, but nevertheless tossed the coins Scorpius' way. "I should tell Gareth to ease up on the amateurs."

"Nah, look at him. It's the most fun he's had all summer."

Indeed, when Al glanced up at the Slytherin beater—who had his bat cocked against his shoulder—Gareth looked significantly less sour-faced than usual.

"Next!" Al called out to the remaining candidates.

And so it went, for the next twenty minutes. Five players later, both Al and even Scorpius were becoming exponentially miffed at the turn-out of Slytherin options.

"This is ridiculous. Has the Sorting Hat been giving us a good laugh the last four years?" Al cupped his mouth and yelled up at his two supervisory Beaters. "Milch! Nott! We're taking a break." He glanced over at the group of waiting Slytherins, who were now shifting uneasily. Some let out dissatisfied groans. "What are you lot whinging about? Be ready to go in ten minutes and you all better be in fitter shape than what I've seen so far."

With that, he stalked out of their proximity with a frustrated puff of air, ignoring the protestations emanating from the group. He heard Scorpius' measured footsteps trailing after him. "Y'know, if we can't find anyone to fill the Chaser spot, we could always ask Blakeley to come back-"

"After that rubbish _Wickerbee Wasp_ stunt he pulled during the Gryffindor final last year? Fat chance."

"Merlin. You're-" Scorpius paused, causing Al to halt in his footsteps, and then he drilled on with typical Malfoy bluntness: "You're acting like a cunt, Potter."

Al rolled his eyes. "Fine." He sighed and rubbed his temples. "What's this I hear about you and Chantal splitting up?"

Scorpius had evidently not been expecting that at all. His mouth curved into a sardonic smile. "Oh, that's gone around already, has it?"

"You _have_?" Al was astonished. "Dumbledore's beard, I thought it was just a rumor."

"How many times do I have to repeat this, Potter?" said Scorpius irritably, "You can't split up with someone that you never-"

"She must be _fucking_ pissed."

"How should I know? The benefit of losing a bird is that you don't have to actually see her anymore."

Al grinned. "So what happened then? Did she accidentally mix up your toiletries?"

Scorpius glared at him scathingly. "Take all morning to come up with that one? _Clever_."

"What I don't understand is _why_ you did it," continued Al thoughtfully, choosing to ignore Scorpius' quip. "The two of you are a match made in hell. I mean, she's hot, stuck-up, pureblooded, lets you walk all over her like a doormat-"

"Sounds charming, doesn't it?" There was a dullness in Scorpius' tone that prompted Al to zero in on Scorpius' expression, and he saw a fierce glint in the boy's blue eyes that hinted of something beyond Al's own insight.

Al hesitated, assessing that perhaps he was touching upon matters too close to heart. He opened his mouth to assuage the situation, thinking of perhaps poking fun at Nyx's new shoulder-pads—

"Al, could I have a word with you?" The two boys whirled around at the voice of the newcomer. Al was surprised to see his sister Lily standing in close proximity with her arms folded. Her red hair, which fell in generous waves around her, complemented the pale-yellow sundress she was wearing and gave her the overall impression of an exotic plant.

To match, she was holding a bluebell-colored flower Al had never seen before, with a stalk that looked to be about half a meter long.

"'Course, Lils," he replied, giving Scorpius a pointed look that suggested that the blond ought to head back to direct the group of Chaser candidates. Scorpius, far from looking affronted, simply shrugged and treaded off without so much of a word. Al suspected he was relieved with the turn of conversation.

Lily watched him go with knowing amber-brown eyes. "Was I interrupting something?" Twirl, twirl. The flower spun in her hands.

"It's Malfoy. What could we possibly have to talk about?"

"Dunno. Matters from Tunisia, perhaps," commented Lily airily, and Al was reminded once more of how acute Lily's perception could be. It was impossible to fool her, and his abashed expression confirmed it. She smirked. "Anyway, I was just wondering if I could…make a last-minute addition to your Quidditch roster?"

Al raised his eyebrow quizzically. "Blimey, I didn't know you were interested in Quidditch politics. Shouldn't you be whispering in Richie Montgomery's ear? He's captain of your house."

"Oh I couldn't give a flobberworm's arse about Quidditch," retaliated Lily brightly, "But I've got a mate in Slytherin who's quite talented. You remember the Scamander twins?"

"Right, yeah. Lorcan, was it?"

"Lysander, actually. Lorcan's the Gryffindor."

"Oh, I see." Under any other circumstances, Al would have disregarded such tidbits, but Lily had abnormally sound judgment. He scanned the list of names that had showed up today. "I don't see a Lysander here. Lily, he didn't even sign up for _try-outs_. You sure he's qualified?"

"Oh, Sanders has always been shy. It took _ages_ for me to convince him even to show up," said Lily with a sigh, her eyes flickering towards a solitary, hunched figure on the pitch.

Al followed her gaze and noted the presence of a lithe, sandy-haired fellow with his hands clenched tensely in front of him and a surly expression over his features.

Great. Another Slytherin with an attitude problem.

Al grimaced at his sister, prompting Lily to lean over and pinch Al's cheek as she had always done when they were little. "Come on, Al. May I remind you that _you_ didn't sign up for try-outs either? Give him a chance to make some friends with his house-mates. You ought to be the first to sympathize."

"Ow—alright, Lils—get off—_fine_!" conceded Al, rubbing his reddening cheek with a scowl. "What's that flower you're holding, anyway?"

"Oh, this? It's _spectica fornias_. Beautiful, isn't it? Lysander found it. Apparently, they only grow from Hippogriff droppings."

"If you give it to me, I'll let him try out."

"Deal." Lily shoved the long-stalked specimen into Al's hands and stepped away with a lovely, content smile. "You won't regret it. He's brilliant. Even I can tell and I'm _rubbish _when it comes to Quidditch."

"Oh, and is it true that Malfoy's split up with Chantal? The girls in my dormitory are going out of their minds."

"Erm. Yes."

"Has he _really_?" exclaimed Lily with widened eyes. Al's scowl deepened. "What, Al? Malfoy's _fit_, there's no doubt about it. I've got my family loyalties in place and all that, but I can't ignore what I see."

Al was silent for a moment, and then: "Lil?"

"What?"

"Just…tell your mates to lay off for a bit. I don't think he's as pleased about it as he seems."

"Nonsense. Chantal is a nightmare," said Lily briskly, then reached over and petted him on the shoulder. "Anyway, thank you!" she sang, and like a fresh summer breeze, spun away and trotted off lightly towards the spectator stands.

As always, Al was left a little dumbfounded in Lily's wake and merely trodded back to where Scorpius was standing. The blond looked thoroughly frustrated; his cheeks were flushed a light shade of magenta and his blond hair was fraying out of place.

"I put the rest of these idiots up for passing practice," Scorpius growled by way of greeting, and Al noticed that the remaining population of the try-out candidates were now hovering in mid-air and tossing each other Quaffles with no little amount of joviality. "They were so pathetic with one-on-one drills I was getting a migraine."

"Hang on," said Al. He looked over his shoulder and called out to the solitary figure. "Lysander Scamander! That's you, right? You're a fourth-year?"

The surly-faced boy started at the sound of his name and instinctively turned towards the stands, where Lily was perched. When she flashed him an encouraging smile, he dropped his tense shoulders and then trudged heavily towards Al, looking as though he was being sentenced to the chopping block.

"Yup," the boy said listlessly, his bright silver eyes flashing alternatively between Al and Scorpius.

"Right, get your kit on and join the others," said Al sharply.

The boy shuffled uneasily. "I don't have a kit."

Scorpius let out a 'puh' of air, prompting Al to elbow him swiftly. "Okay. Just get on your broomstick then."

Lysander was sporting a cheap, somewhat dilapidated Nebulus 2.0, one that seemed to lack both the care and diligence of an avid Quidditch player. By instinct, these were negative attributes Al would have picked out, but he felt Lily's gaze on him and give way to a sigh. Lysander shot off the ground.

Scorpius turned to the redhead with an accusatory expression. "So your sister gives you a ruddy _flower_ and you let her weigh in on Quidditch decisions? She's a Gryffindor, if it hasn't escaped your notice."

"Not all Potter-Weasleys are cheating scoundrels, you know," was all Al had to say on the matter.

"Prove me wrong, Potter."

"What about, I dunno, _me_?"

"Well you're a s_pecial _ickle Slytherin, aren't you?" emphasized Scorpius in a manner that, amazingly, still sounded like an insult.

"Louis isn't so bad either."

"Frenchy is a self-absorbed wanker," responded Scorpius matter-of-factly, and Al snorted at the irony of the statement. "And he's got stupid hair."

Al suppressed a smile and then turned his attention onto matters at hand. "Right!" he roared out across the pitch, and the scattering din of laughter instantly died down. All the floating heads on broomsticks rotated towards the Quidditch captain.

"I have half in mind to take your stupid arses back to the dungeons with what I've seen today. But unfortunately, we're still a player short for our first string team, and as much as I don't want to spend another _second_ with you sorry lot, I'd still prefer upping our chances for winning the cup. That said," he paused and regarded them sternly. "You drop the Quaffle _once_, you're out of the running.

"We'll be doing a scrummage exercise without Beaters or Keepers. This is to test out your _ball-handling skills_ and the teams pitted aginst one another will have ten minutes to score as many points as possible. Winning teams get to sit out for the next round." He pulled out his clipboard and consulted the names, "Right. Team One—Carrow, LeDonchard, and Callaghan. Team Two—Avery, Zavi, Duvant. Team Three—Goyle, Matsuka, and…" He paused again, and his eyes fell on the sullen Lysander boy. "Scamander. Alright, Team One and Team Three-up you go."

And with that, Al headed for the bleachers and settled down with Katie, Scorpius, and Gareth. Katie and Gareth were thoroughly soaked through with sweat and seemed to be grateful for the respite out of the sun.

"So we've been flying our arses off and our Captain's been picking flowers?" commented Katie with her eye on the blue-bell plant in Al's hand. Al merely shrugged in reply.

"You look hot," smirked Scorpius as he eyed Katie's damp uniform.

"Shut it. I'm boiling," sighed Katie, fanning herself as she slumped down on the metal benches. "Gareth, your aim's improved."

"Been practicing at home. Loads of time being cooped up, y'know," shrugged Gareth flatly.

"And Scorp," said Katie with a teasing grin. "Is it true what we've heard, that you've broken up with your girlfriend?"

"So it would seem."

"Well, congratulations for finally shaking that bird off! I think it's marvelous you're out in the dating—er, _singles_—scene again."

"_I _think the _Daily Prophet _should have a branch out here at Hogwarts, looking at the rate we circulate information," responded Scorpius dryly.

"Malfoy's too young for you, Katie," chided Al with a good-natured smile.

"Oh for Agrippa's sake, you make me sound senile. I'm only a year above you all. Besides," she sniffed dramatically. "Scorpius isn't my type. He's too…"

"Breathtaking?" quipped Scorpius.

"…_Stoic_, I was going to say. You can hardly tell what Scorp's thinking half the time. I'd much prefer that French cousin of yours, Potter," added Katie with a waggle of her eyebrows.

Scorpius grumbled to himself.

There was an uproar from the pitch, and Al sat up as he observed Team Three performing a customary celebratory lap. "Did somebody get the Quaffle in already?"

"I think it was that Scamander boy," said Katie with a squint. "He's not bad at all. Terrible taste in broomsticks but look, he's up and at it again…nice, long passes…"

Before long, there was another wave of applause and then another, and within ten minutes, Team Three had pummeled Team One with a total of sixty points to ten. Al threw Scorpius a look that clearly read 'I told you so' and the blond responded with a stubborn roll of his eyes.

"Well, well. He just came out of nowhere, didn't he?" remarked Katie with a pleased expression.

Al glanced over at his sister sitting on the opposite end of the bleachers with a smile on her face, and felt his heart tighten in gratitude. For once, it seemed his own Quidditch instinct had been proven wrong. "I reckon we just found our new chaser."

AAA.

"Oi, there you are. I've got something for you."

Carpathia spun around to the sound of Al's voice and was surprised to see him still dressed in his Quidditch gear, sweat stains and all. The green set off his red hair quite nicely, and for a fleeting moment, Carpathia thought he looked very handsome.

"What is it?" she inquired, glancing down at her watch. "I've got to go to your uncle's class soon."

"It'll only take a moment, I promise," insisted Al with a suspiciously wide smile on his face. He wrapped his fingers around her arm and pulled her to the side of the corridor so that the two of them wouldn't be waylaid by students entering the Banquet Hall. "So you remember when you were going on about those flowers…forias, forinthians…"

"_Fornias_, you mean?" corrected Carpathia with a roll of her eyes.

"Right, yeah. Grown from hippogriff droppings. Hard to forget." Without another word, Al reached into his Quidditch duffel bag and presented an exquisite flower with navy-blue petals and a long, curving magenta stalk.

Carpathia's eyes widened, and her hands closed around the stalk instinctively. "Oh, _Al_…"

"Apparently, Lily's got another ardent admirer she's not too keen on. She gave it to me on the pitch this morning and I thought you might like it." Al grinned and his green eyes sparkled at the delighted look on Carpathia's face. "Happy…um…twenty-third of September, is it?"

"I don't even—you _remembered_…" Carpathia put a hand to her mouth and she gazed at Al rather fervently, which prompted him to grin. Then, a thought occurred to her and her lips turned down reproachfully. "So you got in the way of another of Lily's boyfriends _again_?"

"Bloody hell, are girls all so difficult to please?" said Al indignantly but the smile never left his face. "Do you like it?"

"Yes, of course," Carpathia said softly and reached out to pat his shoulder. "And all I got you was old toast." She handed him the aforementioned object wrapped in a paper napkin, which he accepted happily.

"Well, you know," quipped Al, biting into the bread with a drawn-out crunch. "Old toast can do a lot for a bloke after keen exercise."

"Not if you've been picking flowers." Carpathia watched the redhead relish his snack with a groan of satisfaction and the sight made her heart pang sadly in a manner that hadn't in years. "How were tryouts?"

"Ah, you know, the usual-"

"Al!" cried out a light female voice, and Carpathia's shoulders stiffened slightly as she registered the patter of footsteps and the sight of Isabel prancing towards them with cream-colored ribbons in her hair.

"Hello Iz," Al greeted in surprise, his green eyes softening into limpid pools as his girlfriend leaned over with a light kiss on her lips. "I thought you had Binns."

"Oh he still thinks I'm called Agnes, so I reckon my attendance doesn't matter. I had to come see the Quidditch captain on his first day of a brand new season," said Isabel brightly before turning to Carpathia with an ecstatic smile. "Hullo, Carpathia. Haven't heard from you all summer! That's a lovely plant you've got there."

"Thanks," replied the addressed with a polite smile. "You looked like you had fun in Greece. Great tan."

"Oh you think so?" said Isabel, her light blue eyes beaming at the compliment. "Al hasn't really said anything about it…"

"Oi, Potter!" an unfamiliar call emanated from the entrance of the Banquet Hall, prompting the three to pause momentarily in conversation. "You left your roster out on the table."

"Shit," cursed Al and promptly shouted back, "Be right there, Nyx!" He turned to the two girls with a grimace. "Sorry. I've been a clumsy idiot these last couple days." He kissed Isabel on the cheek and broke into a jog in the opposite direction.

"He adores you," observed Carpathia, watching how Al's head swiveled over his shoulder a few seconds later to flash Isabel another grin.

"Yes, and I'm grateful for that," replied Isabel quietly. She gave Carpathia a meaningful look and then explained, "I've got a terribly dysfunctional family, you know. Mum lives in Italy and Dad's here so I rarely get to see them together, but this summer before we went off to Greece on vacation I spent an awful lot of time with the Potters…and it made me realize how lucky I am, to have someone who cares for me so much."

Her fingers went to her hair and she twisted several long strands around her index. Her smile faltered slightly. "I've been so stupid. I can't believe it took so long for me to come to my senses…blokes like Al are only a handful nowadays."

"He fancied you for ages," nodded Carpathia wryly.

"I know…" sighed Isabel, and then her eyes fixed on Carpathia haltingly as though she wanted to ask a question but wasn't quite sure how to phrase it. Then, after several moments, the words trailed. "Carpathia…on the train…I saw…" She took a deep breath. "What I mean to say is, are you alright?"

Carpathia blinked, taken aback by Isabel's concern. The school would've known by now that Devon was expelled, but had Al told her surreptitiously about her relationship with Devon? She hadn't expected him to, nor did she particularly mind, but it surprised her that Isabel cared.

"I'm fine now," she replied the girl with a firm smile. "And I definitely won't be doing anything like that again."

"Yes, you didn't seem like you knew what was happening…"

"I was fucked," said Carpathia bluntly, prompting a faint chuckle from Isabel. "But it's really nice of you to ask. Thank you."

"Oh no problem…I mean, I suppose we ran into each other and I had to know…"

There was an odd edge to her tone and Carpathia wondered if it was because her reply hadn't been sufficient enough. Yes, so they had run into each other, but what did the girl expect? She could barely remember what had happened on the train, let alone remember the details of meeting each and every person.

She did distinctly recall Isabel's _presence_…but it was represented in her mind as a set of arbritrary details, like a strand of cascading ribbons and a brightly-colored blouse with two of its buttons unbuttoned…

The last thought suddenly stuck, like a rock refusing to budge in a river of conscious thoughts. What had been so significant about that detail? It must have been important otherwise her mind wouldn't have chosen to encapsulate it the memory…

"Marietto!" cut in the same voice that had beckoned Al earlier (Nyx, was it?), and the two girls swiveled to face the Banquet Hall. Al was trodding back towards them with his cheeks flushed. Another bloke with a dark slash of hair across his forehead was skipping behind him with a mischievous grin.

"Oh for Morgana's sake, the team _loves_ poking fun at him," muttered Isabel embarrassedly.

"Oi, Marrieto, don't you have a Potter to get back to?" catcalled Nyx again. At that point, Al turned and determinedly flipped him the bird, prompting several people in the corridors who were watching to laugh.

Isabel then met her boyfriend halfway and, ignoring the comments and cheers now echoing from the walls, kissed him on the mouth. For several long seconds, there were continued woops of '_Naughty Potter_!' and Al smiled against Isabel's lips.

Carpathia stared. Not because she wanted to, but because the phrase had triggered a hot wave of alarm through her veins.

_Don't you have a Potter to get back to?_

She tore her eyes away and strode off with her heart beating fast, the wheels of her mind churning, and her fingers clenched around the _fornias _stalk in her hand.

AAA.

Rose found Louis wandering around the lake near sunset. She was surprised to see that he had changed his clothes and was now donning a rather stylish fedora with matching _Ferregamo _leather shoes. He was leaning against a tree, with a cigarette in hand, and his head was tilted upwards to survey the spiraling motion of the smoke.

"Charlie told me you never showed up to Care of Magical Creatures. Is that true?" demanded Rose, her hands on her hips, and the boy started. When his eyes registered that it was his cousin, his shoulders loosened and he promptly ashed out his cigarette.

"Maybe," said Louis nonchalantly.

Rose exhaled and leaned against the tree next to him. "_Louis_. You can't…these are your N.E.W.T's. They're _important_."

"Relax, Rosie-Red. Here," he held out the box of cigarettes and she raised a hand to decline.

"Quidditch," she said by way of explanation.

"Oh. _Quel dommage_."

"If you want a smoking partner, you should ask Carpathia," deadpanned Rose.

"Oh right, the girl in black. She's an interesting character."

"Louis, why don't you take anything seriously?"

"I _do_ take…." Louis ended his sentence with a frustrated sigh, and when his clear eyes fixed on Rose she remembered all the times she'd played with him as a child in Uncle Bill's sandbox. _No, Rosie, we can't build a castle the same way everyone else does. _He'd been so creative, so genial, so _lively_. "I couldn't think about classes today, alright? I had other things on my mind."

"Like what?"

Louis looked at her sideways and offered her a beatific smile. "The usual. Life, death, and impossible love."

"Are you in love, Lou?"

"Are _you,_ Rosie?"

Rose said nothing, and Louis simply took that to mean another drag. When he expelled the smoke out of his mouth, the conversation was already wiped from his mind. "Anyway, what's that you have there?"

Rose blinked, bringing her attention down to the envelope stuffed in her right hand. "Oh. I was about to send off a letter to mum. Do you want to come to the owlery with me?"

"Sure."

Louis finished his stub and, with a clearing spell, dissipated the contents back into the earth. Afterwards, the two treaded silently to the Owlery, chatting about bitchy girls, less-than-adequate Quidditch captains, and Ravenclaws that had grown marginally attractive over the summer. When they reached the stone tower that nested Hogwarts' owls, Rose headed inside and left Louis out on the terrace to smoke another cigarette.

Ignoring the soft hoot of indignation that Gideon made as he was woken from his sleep, Rose tied the letter gently to the owl's leg and sent him flapping out on the blood-ridden sunset. After several moments of watching him become a mere speck in the distance, she turned.

Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest when she found herself gazing at the tear-ridden face of Chantal Gerhardt.

The French girl looked exquisite in a slim, violet jumper, but her eyes were screwed and tinged with red. She was glaring at Rose with unspoken words, save for the wobble of her lower lip.

"_What _on earth are you doing here?" she said, her voice low and deadly.

Rose folded her arms and slowly settled back against the wall. "Writing to my mother. Have you been sitting here _watching _me the whole time?"

"_C'est incroyable_," muttered Chantal bitterly, shaking her head. "Believe it or not, not everything is centered around you."

Rose opened her mouth in confusion, and then closed it again. "…Okay."

"Why did you come here? To torture me some more? To laugh?" Chantal rose to her full height, her hands shaking. "Or could you not even allow me the _dignity _of shedding some tears over the fact that the boy I fell in love with told me that he didn't want me anymore!"

Rose felt as though a hand had reached inside her and was squeezing her gut like a bottle of mustard. She took a deep breath and faced the girl squarely in the eye. "Look, I didn't even know until this morning. And you seemed…"

_Fine_. All throughout the day, Chantal had been the picture of perfect, peppermint happiness. She had raved about her exquisite summer in Paris, where she had apparently dined with the French President and his sons. When the subject of Malfoy had been brought up, she'd shaken it off as daintily as she would have shaken off breadcrumbs with a handkerchief.

"To be honest, I expected to have to take off points for catching the two of you tonguing each other's throats in the middle of Transfiguration again." Rose rolled her eyes inwardly at the memory, but kept her face quite neutral. "I thought it was just a silly rumor."

"A rumor you hoped would be true?" sneered Chantal in a silky voice, and when Rose met her eyes in shock, Chantal allowed herself a brief, watery smile of triumph. "You think you're so clever, don't you? But you're so very…_transparent_." She took a step towards Rose, her dark intense eyes flaring.

"I know what you feel for him, and I think it makes you nothing but an ignorant, selfish _bitch_. You loved to pretend you were above us, Scorpius and I, but you couldn't help yourself, could you? I know your sort. Rich and famous, always getting what you want but never enough so you have _rebel _to make yourself feel better. Scorpius fit that label perfectly, didn't he? So you had to go ahead and turn him into a lesser version of himself by making him consort with a _whore _like you even though there might have been others-" her breath shuddered in her chest, and a fresh wave of tears pooled over in her eyes. "Others who have been there since the beginning, others who care _deeply_ for him."

On the last syllable, the French girl reached out and pushed Rose sharply on the shoulder, and that's when Rose's blood boiled over.

The redhead straightened, allowing herself to be half a head taller than the other girl. When she started speaking, she felt as though there was a hot ball of light ready to burst out of her mouth. "I don't have to stand here and listen to this because you've got some _fucking nerve_, Chantal. I have never _once_ 'made' Scorpius Malfoy do anything—in fact, I don't think anyone _can _make Malfoy do anything he doesn't already want to do. So before you go around calling other girls bitches and slags, take a look at some of the things you've done that make you downright _unbearable_. Maybe that might explain why Scorpius never bought you that diamond ring, or maybe why he never bothered writing you about his summer, or why he pretty much makes it _damn clear_ to the whole world that you're not his girlfriend. Because you—Chantal Gerhardt—are _ignorant_ of how your behavior affects others and _selfish_ to assume that anybody who isn't in love with you ought to be."

When Rose had finished her tirade, her cheeks were flushed with adrenaline. She felt as if her blood was a mixture of ice and heat. "For fuck's sake, you've ruined a perfectly good day."

Chantal lurched forward and Rose immediately tried to duck, which resulted in the French girl grabbing a fistful of her hair. Rose counteracted by sinking her nails into Chantal's soft skin, prompting the girl to shriek.

"_Le putain_! _Vous êtes égoïste, vous êtes chienne! _ _J'espère que vous pourrir en enfer-_"

"Shut _up_!" Rose yelled, struggling to shield her face from Chantal's swinging hands.

"What the _fuck _is going on?" With a loud yell, Louis had entered the room and was staring in shock at the two screaming girls. He came to his senses seconds later and strode over, wrenching the two girls apart.

"Alright, alright. Get _off_, Louis," Rose spat, pushing Louis away from her. She was quivering in rage, her fists aching not only from contact but also from the desire to rip Chantal's face off.

But Chantal had already fallen apart. The girl let out a stream of French wails and knelt down to the floor as a fresh wave of tears flowed down her cheeks. With shaking hands, she covered her face and attempted to compose herself, and in those few moments, it was as if all the world seemed to halt for the sorrow in the girl's shaking shoulders.

_She loved him_, Rose realized with a pang. She _really _loved him.

When her hands finally lifted away from her face, her eyes were running with mascara and her nose was bloated from phlegm.

"Louis," she addressed the boy in eerily calm tones. Louis was still standing in his original spot, looking quite stunned. "_Qu'est-ce que tu fous là?_"

A surprised look flitted over Louis' face. "_Vous souvenez de moi?"_

"_Bien sûr, je me souviens._"

"_Comment il a fait?"_

" _Je suppose que vous êtes tout aussi inutile comme avant." _And with that, Chantal got to her feet and assumed a familiar, haughty expression. Managing one last scornful snort directed at the pair of Weasley cousins, she pushed roughly past Rose and left the owlery in an admirably graceful manner. The only hint that her emotional episode had occurred was a periodic sniffle echoing from the stairwell.

Rose stared after her and, without truly understanding why, felt a wave of shame well up inside her over what had just happened. Avoiding Louis' curious gaze, she shook her head blankly and headed out of the owlery, more lost than ever.

AAA.

A few days later, a friend was found, feelings were addressed, and a lie was uncovered.

First, a friend.

It began with Louis Weasley. When the disillusioned sixth-year finally decided to attend Care of Magical Creatures after skiving off two of its lessons, he didn't anticipate the fact that he might actually enjoy it.

Upon entering the classroom, he spotted his uncle immediately. Louis had to admit, Charlie looked fantastic. Despite the fact he was nearing his mid-fifties, Charlie looked young, with his graying red hair cropped short to match the stubble peppering his jaw. His gray vest and pale-blue button-up emphasized the strength in his arms (as well as the lingering tan from the summer holiday in Majorca), and he was wearing the brown leather shoes Louis' mother had given him last year in Christmas. Often, Louis had to wonder why his father had never attuned to current fashion tastes as Charlie had, despite being so close in personality.

As he crossed the room, he noticed several heads (mainly female) turning his way. There weren't many people in this class, he realized, approximately ten or twelve. And about three-quarters of them were female.

When he swiveled his head around slightly, he met the eyes of a round-faced Hufflepuff girl who was avidly gawking at him. She blushed furiously at his gaze and reverted back to the conversation with her friends, whom had now all collapsed into giggles.

Louis sighed, wishing for once that a giant mole would suddenly sprout out of his arse so that they would looking at his backside when they thought he didn't notice. He knew the denim pants he was wearing were immaculately fitted and that he looked _good_, good beyond anything humanly normal. It was that something that couldn't be helped.

He trained his attention back to his uncle, who seemed to be in deep discussion with Carpathia Nott. That was interesting.

"…riveting read. Never imagined dragon heartstring was so rare nowadays that they had to resort to such extensive poaching," the girl was saying rather animatedly.

"Yes, you'll be shocked to know how much magical folk in the market nowadays completely disregard the _Wands-Choose-Wizards _rule just to possess a heartstring wand. But, you know, that's precisely what _Price of Magic _wants you to think…that if we don't act now, they'll all be extinct in a couple decades," replied Charlie with a somber smile. "You know, Carpathia, if you were interested in that one, you ought take a look at another book I fancy. _'A Cauldron's Worth of Sorrow_', by Graham Featherstone…"

She had to be a favorite student of his, thought Louis, and he appraised Carpathia Nott with new eyes. It was damn hard to impress Charlie.

"…Brilliant talk, Carpathia, but I think Montgomery's waiting for you to head back and finish mapping out the werewolf tracker-" Charlie's cheerful tones suddenly plummeted when his eyes found Louis, who was leaning casually against the desk opposite his. "_Louis_. Bleedin' hell, did you _just _get here?"

The class fell silent and several heads turned to witness the spectacle.

"Sorry," apologized Louis with a poor attempt to conceal a smile. "I was lost, Charlie."

Charlie stood up and regarded him sternly. He was quite a different picture as a professor than he was as the goofy uncle who accidentally lit the Christmas tree on fire. "Were you lostthe last two lessons as well? I'd have to assume you were lost in _time _because you're two weeks late for your first assignment."

"I've been trying to get to know the place. Really, I mean, Hogwarts grounds are _massive_," said Louis rather earnestly, prompting several giggles from the girls in the front row. Carpathia was gazing at him, looking less than impressed.

"Honestly, Louis, I don't want to take marks off you before you've even _started _but I don't see how I have any choice. Your mum's going to murder me," said Charlie irritably. He exhaled, rubbing his temples. "Alright, you'll form a group of three with Nott and Montgomery. You've missed a lot, and they'll put you up to speed."

There was the barest twitch on Carpathia's lips, which might have signified some sort of negative emotion, but Louis followed her back to her station nevertheless.

She was quite pretty, Louis observed, in a unique, eclectic way that a person couldn't quite pinpoint until after long periods of time. He respected her stylistic elements; the way she'd draped her black jacket elegantly over her black v-neck, the chic-ness that the leather boots and sleek short hair gave her, and the splash of magenta dye in the front few strands. Louis appreciated art, and Carpathia was walking art.

On the other hand, her partner Richie Montgomery was a sloppy disaster.

"Hi. You're James' cousin, aren't you?" greeted the brown-skinned boy, whose hair stood up on all ends like a nuclear ball of frizz and whose trousers sported a generous mud stain. It was a good thing he was captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, speculated Louis. That undoubtedly made his life much easier.

"Yup. Louis Weasley," the French boy responded and turned to Carpathia: "I've met you already, haven't I? Rose introduced us a couple days ago."

"That's right," she replied, giving no indication that she cared and settling down on the workspace. "So did you manage to list out the exact bio-diversity specifications we got from the paw prints?" She addressed Richie with cool, calm eyes, and he fumbled slightly.

"Yeah, they're right over here. Couldn't get the name of this specific type of moss-leaf, though-" Richie broke off and a blush spread over his dark cheeks as Carpathia bent over his arm to get a closer look at the petri dish on the desk. He was clearly flustered by the closeness of her presence, and Louis smiled.

"So what are we doing?" Louis inquired, swinging over one of the chairs to hunch over the petri dish like the other two.

"Tracking werewolves using Locator spells and star-maps," answered Carpathia without looking up. _She thinks I'm an idiot, _mused Louis briefly. "This isn't moss-leaf, Richie, it's silverbranch…which means," she tapped the desk speculatively with one finger, "that this paw-print has to be from the eldar sector of the forest. The eldars is the only place that still has an intact colony of silverbranches."

"Right yeah, I totally agree," nodded Richie fervently. He glanced at Louis and said, rather proudly, "Carpathia's brilliant, you know."

Carpathia's head snapped up. "Don't flatter me, Richie. We work well together." Her brisk tone seemed to imply in the professional sense, but a broad smile spread over Richie's face. _Sad, _thought Louis, _sad, sad, sad_. "Now we just need to separate the origination's bio-diversity composition with the preceding compositions…"

"Use pixie dust," interrupted Louis, and Carpathia turned to look at him in surprise. She had very serene, gray eyes for such a hard personality. "Pixie dust is a cleaning solvent, as you know, but it changes color based on how old sediment is. You can separate the two compositions based on your timeline and the color change."

There was a pregnant pause as Carpathia considered it, and then her expression cleared. She nodded slowly. "That's actually…really…clever." Louis grinned inwardly to himself. "I suppose we'll just have to ask Charlie if…"

"I'll do it," said Richie, throwing Louis an edgy look as though Louis had done something massively untrustworthy. "Be right back." He strode off, leaving Carpathia with a rather quizzical expression.

"He fancies you," explained Louis, settling into the seat originally occupied by Richie.

Carpathia blinked in surprise. "No he doesn't."

"_Like hell. _I've barely been here for two minutes and it couldn't be more obvious. He hangs onto your every word like his life depends on it, he looks like Christmas come early every time you so much as_ breathe _on him, and—let me guess—has he been your partner every lesson since term started?"

A smile flitted briefly over Carpathia's face at the last statement. "Yeah, but I just assumed that mathematically the odds were in my favor. We've got about ten people in this class."

"Blokes don't do anything by coincidence," said Louis, raising a finger at her pointedly. "Your surname's Nott, right? Any connection to Gareth Nott?"

"We shared a womb."

"_Cool_," nodded Louis in appreciation.

"Why do you ask?"

"No reason. I just thought it was rather peculiar to see how brother and sister could be in two opposite houses."

There was a beat of awkward pause, and then Louis proceeded rather casually: "I think we should be friends."

Carpathia opened her mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again. "That's…sweet?"

"I mean, I understand how this might come off a little strange," elaborated Louis with a roll of his eyes. "But I think you and I would be well-suited as mates. Plus I _need _a mate."

"But you've _got_ mates," said Carpathia slowly, as though she wasn't entirely certain how to respond.

"And who would you consider to be a mate of mine?"

"Rose, Al, Rowan…" said Carpathia, casting a look around the room as if she were trying to derive further inspiration. "Um. You know, the lot."

"First of all, Rose and Al are family. Not friends. The ideas mutually exclusive," corrected Louis with a grin. "Second, Rowan's not really my friend because he's _always _been a friend of Rose, and everyone with common sense knows that friendships are prioritized with a time reference-"

"Naturally," quipped Carpathia sardonically.

"—and third, even though this has nothing to do with anything else I've said, I have an uncanny judgment of people and I think you're wicked. Ergo, we should be friends."

There was a smile threatening to bloom over Carpathia's face, but she was doing a remarkable job of reining it in.

"Since we're being honest," she said carefully, leaning in closer to the French boy, "I think you seem like an intelligent bloke with sound observational skills. From what Al's told me, you're probably quite nice as well. The problem is you're one of those social butterflies and I prefer friends that fly under the radar, if you know what I mean."

At Louis' quizzical expression, the raven-hair girl emphasized: "I'm not a fan of _attention_."

"Which totally explains why you're besties with Harry Potter's son," remarked Louis genially and when Carpathia said nothing on the matter, the boy ploughed on. "Would it be better if I told you that I never asked for any attention? That I don't _really _enjoy it all? That I find your ability to ignore my natural Veela magnetism very refreshing?" He paused, allowing that to sink in.

"I'll be completely honest. I find you fascinating, and I get along with fascinating people. They're more likely to be open-minded." He didn't further elaborate, but he took Carpathia's silence to mean that he should continue.

"Al's told me a lot about you, you know. How the two of you found one another, how you helped him through that awful time in his first year, and how kind you can be despite the fact everyone thinks you're a bit of an oddball. And you probably don't believe me, but I've been through that. There are some secrets I've kept that I can't…_share _with people easily and I have a feeling you'd be a good listener." He added as an afterthought: "Plus Rose tells me you'd make an excellent smoking partner and I've got the best collection of premium cigarettes in the whole of Britain. So what do you say?"

The smile Louis had been waiting for finally appeared; it burst upon Carpathia's solemn expression like a ray of sunshine. Then, she opened her mouth and said, quite simply: "No."

"_No_?" repeated Louis incredulously, thrown off for the first time since that conversation had started. "Why not?" Several heads were turning towards them.

"I already have a friend," replied Carpathia with a laugh, pulling out her wand and returning back to the task at hand. "His name is Albus Potter."

Louis exhaled and leaned in so that the tip of his chin brushed her dark hair. She smelled like wood-oak and cigarette smoke, a charming combination. His mouth whispered tantalizingly into her ear, "But he's _not _really your friend, is he? Because you're in love with him."

He heard the clatter of her wand as it fell on the table surface and the soft woosh of air as she gasped. She whirled back on him, eyes burning, most likely prepared to retort with an angry comment when—

"Alright, I'm back with the pixie dust," Richie slid easily into their proximity, looking significantly more cheerful than he'd been before he left. "Did I miss anything?"

Louis fixed Carpathia a cheerful look and her distraught expression morphed back to its original calm._ What are you playing at? _Her narrow eyes seemed to echo silently. "Nope. Not a thing."

It looked like he'd found a favorite class after all.

AAA.

Second, feelings were addressed.

The start of Muggle Studies had been postponed several weeks behind other classes because there hadn't been enough students to fill the minimum requirement of ten people. Like Care of Magical Creatures, it was one of those throwaway N.E.W.T electives that were often neglected in favor of popular choices such as Ancient Runes and Arithmancy.

So when Rose received notification that Muggle Studies would be up and running this week due to a last-minute addition, she was pleasantly surprised.

Professor Wrathe was a vegetarian and a lover of peace. A muggle-born himself, he was devoted to researching links between magic and religion and had previously spent six years in the Himalayas meditating with Buddhist monks. He looked the part too, with his tall, thin bone structure and calm gait.

"_Namastay_, and welcome to Muggle Studies," was how he began class. His eyes twinkled behind the round frames of his glasses. "I am very pleased to see that we have managed to retrieve a sizable crop of students for this year's class." There was a ringing silence as the students snuck glances at one another. _Sizable_?

"Muggle Studies at the N.E.W.T level is quite different from Muggle Studies as you have known it from previous years. We are not here to memorize the names of countries and significant historical events. Nor are we here to tinker with various Muggle inventions. _That _is all behind you," he smiled serenely. "So put away your maps, for we have no need to navigate the tangible structures of the Muggle world. Instead, we will be focusing on the map of the Muggle _mind_."

Rose sat up a little straighter in her chair and leaned in closer out of interest. Professor Wrathe had turned to the board and begun writing something in chalk. The act itself was rather peculiar, for most professors opted to charm their writing utensils into dictating their words as they were saying them.

_Philosophy_. That was what he'd written. Wrathe stepped away from the board and regarded the class inquisitively. "What does this word mean?"

A Hufflepuff in the front row raised his hand (Quentin? Rose distinctly recalled) and said, "Existentialism?"

"Too specific, Mr. Crawley."

Rose raised her hand, and the professor fixed his gaze on her. "Yes, Miss Weasley?"

"The origin of thought," she replied.

"_Only_ thought? And what about emotions? A fundamental aspect of human nature is our most basic reactions—anger, fear, happiness. Isn't it important to understand the origin of these reactions and how to control them?" Forrester turned towards the rest of the group, eyebrows raised. "Anyone else? Ah yes, Mr. Malfoy."

_Smack. _The shock prompted Rose's elbow to slip off the desk and her hand collided with the surface of the wood. Thankfully, no one else noticed. Had he said _Malfoy? _She must have been dreaming.

Had to be dreaming.

"To find what forms our beliefs," responded a voice Rose recognized immediately. Only time, the voice was devoid of any mischief or misbehavior.

Wrathe's eyes glinted behind the glasses. "Good. Ten points to Slytherin."

He treaded back to the board and scribbled on another word. "Mr. Malfoy touched upon a key word. _Belief_. What shapes you to see the world the way you do? Religion? Literature? Cultural values? Or perhaps it is the relationships you form day to day with your family and peers. Our beliefs and attitudes are the result of endless combinations of these factors, and philosophy _fuels _our knowledge and willingness to explore such combinations. Think on this for today's lesson."

Silently, he flicked his wand and a stack of papers scattered into the air, landing neatly on each student's desk. "That was just the last piece of magic performed in this room. For thousands of years muggles pondered the meaning of their existence without magic and now we will do the same. Put away your wands and start by reading Plato's Cave."

Muggle Studies was surprisingly enthralling. Wrathe liked the idea of fervent discussion so for the most part, the class was prodded with ambiguous questions and forced to debate among themselves. All in all, Rose would have enjoyed it very much if her mind hadn't been so fixated on the presence of a certain Slytherin.

It drove her mad to see Scorpius so invested in the class. She'd expected him to mock the professor on several accounts. She'd expected him to speak out of turn and flirt with the girl sitting beside him. She'd expected him to contradict her at least twice, in the same scathing, infuriating manner he had done in so many other classes before.

But Malfoy behaved like an exceptional student. He was inquisitive and polite. His comments were concise, intellectually on-point, and insightful. When Rose ventured her opinion in class, he never once interrupted her, never even _once_ bothered to acknowledge her with a look. In fact, he seemed to be keenly ignoring her existence.

It drove her _mad_.

Only because she knew that she'd asked for it.

Rose swallowed her misgivings and waited for class to end. When the bell rang, she shoved her books in her bag and was the first one out of the room. She was barely ten strides away when she heard him.

"_Weasley_!" Her feet stopped in their tracks at the sound of her name and she turned with trepidation. When he caught up to her, she realized it was the first time she'd seen him up close since their encounter in Muggle London.

There was a healthier flush in his skin from spending more time out in the sun at Hogwarts than he had at home. His hair was also fuller, less waxy, and there was a shadow of stubble around his jaw. As always, his lips naturally formed a half-constructed smile that wasn't quite a smile. "You forgot your book."

She stared down at the object in his hand, registering quite dimly that it was her copy of _The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, _by Mark Twain. She couldn't even remember taking it out.

"Right…thanks." She accepted the book and gingerly placed it back in her bag.

"Right," replied Scorpius noncommittally. "So…I'll be off now."

He had passed her by a margin of an inch when Rose couldn't bear it anymore. "I'm sorry. I didn't think. I always only think about myself," she blurted out, and he paused. "I shouldn't have said those things to you. It was a completely bitchy of me. You were going through a lot at home and I had no idea what it was like and you're probably _still_ going through a relatively hard time with the aftermath of the Ministry investigation and breaking up with your girlfriend—at—at least, I think you two _are _broken up-"

"We are," said Scorpius evenly.

"Yes, that's what she said," replied Rose softly, more to herself than him.

Before Rose could say anything else, Scorpius took a step closer and grasped her wrist, rotating it gently so that it faced upwards and towards the light. There were a set of deeply-engrained nail marks, remnants of her and Chantal's ickle catfight up in the owlery.

"What else did Chantal say to you?" Scorpius questioned coolly, and Rose marveled at his acute sense of observation.

"Nothing of consequence," she admitted, gently pulling her hand out of his grip. His blue eyes glinted with unspoken emotion and she continued insistently, "Really, it was nothing." _Just that I might like you much more than I should, which is the horrible truth_. "You ought to take a look at her; I might have left a couple marks as well. And she might be missing some of her extensions." She grimaced at the thought, and to her surprise, Scorpius' mouth twitched.

"She's bizarrely strong, isn't she?"

"It's _weird_. You'd think she was more of a cut-out-letters-and-death-mail sort of girl," replied Rose, shaking her head.

"Didn't last long, apparently. Someone caught her at it behind the bookstacks with Desmond McCormack," responded Scorpius with a shrug.

Why did he have such an innate ability to drop bombs in the middle of casual conversation? Rose opened her mouth to reply but he cut her off, "One apology's enough, Weasley. You don't have to feel sorry for me. It was my decision." He smiled craftily. "Though this is a momentous occasion, isn't it? You, feeling remorseful over me?"

"Lets hope no one takes away your memories this time," remarked Rose. "It's a new year, Malfoy. I would hate to think there was bad blood between us."

"Bad _blood_? Between _us_?"

Rose shook her head ruefully but she was smiling too. "Besides the occasional punching of ex-boyfriends and memory erasing and general awkwardness, I suppose it's time we went back to the way we used to? It'd be for the best."

_Yes. _The relieving thought circulated and her heart beat in consent. It would all go away, the butterflies, the gut-wrenching feelings, maybe even the memory of his lips on hers with given time. And he would never have to know. Perhaps all those blokes over the summer had done her some good.

_For the best. _

"For the best," repeated Scorpius in agreement, and an odd shadow passed through his face. He cleared his throat. "Well, then. Sounds spiffing. Now if you don't mind me, I've got another class to head to and another teacher to impress."

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and moved past her with his typical smooth gait, and then something occurred to Rose and she called out after him: "Wait!"

He turned halfway, eyes glancing out beneath silver-blond strands. "What is it, Weasley?"

"Why'd you pick Muggle Studies?" she asked, surveying his closed expression with folded arms. "Of all classes, why this one?"

Scorpius quirked his eyebrow. "It might've had something to do with a couple scones and a pair of Muggle dentists."

And with that, he swiveled on his heel and tread off nonchalantly, leaving Rose to wallow in thought in his wake.

AAA.

Third, a lie.

_But he's not your friend, is he? Because you're in love with him_.

Louis' words had circulated in Carpathia's head all throughout the day like unrelenting buzzards. And the problem wasn't even the words themselves, but why they had been said in the first place.

How had he known? Was she _that _obvious? And if she herself had vehemently stipulated over the last three years that she was no longer in love with Al, why did her behavior make it so?

The night had come to its peak and curfew was up in thirty minutes. Carpathia's eyes wandered towards the moonlit window, and an idea swum into her mind. There had been something else on her mind the last few days, something that had eaten away at her thoughts like a worm with no beginning and end. A puzzle that needed deciphering.

Louis' voice promptly became replaced with Isabel's. _You didn't seem like you knew what was happening_…

Why make the statement, thought Carpathia in frustration. Had it been Isabel's test, to ensure that Carpathia could verify it? Was it because Isabel _hoped_ something had escaped Carpathia's notice?

_Don't you have a Potter to get back to_?

God, she was being ridiculous. No wonder Louis thought she was in love with Al. She was being unnecessarily paranoid over his girlfriend, always jumping to conclusions about her, when Isabel had clearly done nothing but be the sweet, delicate bird Carpathia could never aspire to be. She wore _ribbons_, for Merlin's sake.

A _friend_, concluded Carpathia, would be nothing but supportive. Her eyes drifted towards the vase on her nightstand, which held the solitary _specticus fornias_. A friend would go out of their way to accept situations they didn't entirely approve of, because _friends_ didn't make things more difficult.

But then again, friends didn't keep secrets from one another either. It was like what Louis had said this morning, that there were some secrets that couldn't _not _be shared if the other person was willing to listen. Perhaps if Adara and Erin had shared with Carpathia about how much of an absolute prick Devon Lynch really was, maybe she wouldn't have made such a complete fool out of herself—

With a jolt, Carpathia leapt out of bed, her heart ringing in her chest.

_Don't you have a Potter to get back to_?

There was only one person who could put the nagging in her mind to rest, and she'd just figured it out.

AAA.

It had been a while she since she'd treaded down this path of the forest, but she remembered the clearing well. Clumsy the baby hippogriff was no longer situated in her old location, but Carpathia supposed it was because she'd gotten too physically demanding and had needed a thicker tree for habilitation. Like all living creatures, she had grown up.

But some things remained as they were. There were three lanterns in the clearing and three laughing, slurred voices that accompanied them. Erin and Keegan were lying flat on their backs, clothes tousled and covered in grass, and their faces were scunrched in mirth and inebriation. But there was another girl sitting amongst them. She was mousy-haired and looked a little more timid than the rest, with an uncertainty in the way she was holding her bottle of Firewhiskey. _Catchlove, _recalled Carpathia, _Simone Catchlove. _

Keegan was the first to spot her. He leapt up from the grass and paled as though he'd seen a ghost. "Christ, Thia! You scared us shitless!"

At the sound of her name, Erin stopped laughing and rotated slowly, her eyes narrowing at Carpathia in disbelief under the mane of bushy hair.

"Don't worry. I'm not staying," said Carpathia emphatically. "I've just got a question about what happened on the train."

"Pretty pathetic to come all the way here to talk about things long past," said Erin tersely. "Adara's gone, in case you haven't noticed. We've all moved on with our lives."

"Right, I'm sure," nodded Carpathia, glancing around at the familiar scene around her with an amused smile. "Well, I don't want to spoil your fun. You'll have till the crack of dawn, since I know that's how this normally goes, so I highly doubt I'll be taking much of your time."

"Oh, so you've become like everyone else then? Narrow-minded, _boring _and too bloody good for us?" mocked Keegan bitterly.

"Look, Thia, we're all tired of feeling guilty about happened. So just get on with it," snapped Erin, getting up (albeit a little wobblingly) to her feet.

Carpathia shrugged. "Alright. Do you remember when you ran into me in the prefect's compartment and I was talking to Isabel Marrieto?"

"_Marrieto-" _Erin frowned, mulling over the name for a moment. "Oh, right. The stuck-up cow with the ribbons." She snorted in reminiscence. 'Fifth-years and up only.' "

"Right, her," said Carpathia slowly, and the aforementioned strands of memory flashed through her mind, piecing together in fluid, logical sense. "And then you said, '_Don't you have a Potter to get back to_?' Do you remember that?"

"I-" Erin rolled her eyes in irritation. "For Agrippa's sake, I was _sloshed_. Why on earth are you making me recite damn details?"

"What did you mean by it?" asked Carpathia, ignoring Erin's protest as she fixed her eyes on the girl. There was a tightening sensation in her ribcage, as though her body was getting ready to be battered by an upcoming storm.

"Honestly, what the fuck does this have to do with anything? That party was old news-"

"_What did you mean by it, Stormwallis_?" repeated Carpathia with heightened intensity, a flash of anger sweeping through her and roiling the blood in her veins.

Erin let out a puff of air and met Carpathia's gaze flatly, and when the words left her mouth Carpathia realized she'd known them all along: "Who she was snogging her pants off with, of course. James_ bloody _Potter."

Not all changes were for the better.

**AAA. **

**Dun dun dun. Some of you totally called it and I hope you're glad that it's out in the open. Hooray for Carpathia for figuring things out. **

**For some of you who are disgruntled that James is being portrayed as a total dick, I assure you that somewhere along this story, he will redeem himself. **

**Also, what do you think about the portrayal of Louis Weasley? He's quite a happy-go-lucky guy and I know his sudden interest in Carpathia is a bit random, but there's a reason for it (I promise). **

**For those of you annoyed at the lack of Scorpius/Rose interaction, there's quite a bit of internal contemplation going on between the two of them. Rose has been feeling confused for the last few chapters and now has it in her head that the best thing is just to go back to normal. Scorpius isn't so **

**Favorite scene to write: Chantal and Rose's catfight. Love it when two strong female characters come into conflict. **

**Special thanks to ****SimplyEcho**** and**** hphilgreen, you're the best! :D **

**Upcoming events: **

**More ScoRo goodness **

**More internal struggles with Carpathia **

**More bromance **

**Harry Potter comes to Hogwarts **

**As always, reviews are much appreciated. **

**Love, **

**~MissusWitch**


	16. In Defense Of Who We Love

**First of all, I'd like the apologize for the wait. I've had a really rough time at home recently due to some personal issues and unfortunately, it's taken a toll on my writing.**

**BUT good news is that here's the first chapter in awhile…and it's a long way. In addition, you will all be looking forward to all the additional chapters I will be posting quickly over the summer break to make up for lost time. **

**Thanks to all the people who reviewed/followed/favorited. It's nice to know you all value this story enough to wait for it **

**A much needed recap on chapter 15: **

**Louis arrives at Hogwarts and is looking for a friend. He finds a kindred bond in Carpathia and tells her he thinks she's still in love with Al. Scorpius and Chantal have broken up and Chantal goes into a bitch-rage at Rose, accusing her of being the primary reason. Rose and Scorpius have an awkward moment outside of Muggle Studies, which Scorpius has signed up for because (supposedly) he met Rose's grandparents. Carpathia figures out that Isabel and James snogged at least once beside Al's back. **

**Chapter 16: In Defense of Who We Love **

"Harry Potter."

The broom cupboard was dark and a little dusty but Al didn't mind. He didn't mind skiving Potions either and he _especially _didn't mind the fact that Isabel's legs were wrapped around his waist and that his hand had just slipped up her shirt. Al had only recently discovered the wonders of the female body, and by _Dumbledore's saggy arse_, he didn't mind at _all_.

He was pulled out of this heavenly stupor by the sound of his father's name on Isabel's lips.

Al pulled away and responded a matter-of-factly:"Voldemort."

"_Sorry?"_ Despite the incredulity in her expression, Isabel's cheeks were flushed a lovely shade of magenta. _Because of me_, thought Al with satisfaction. 

"Oh, I thought you were just naming important people in the war," said the boy with an offhanded shrug and Isabel burst into giggles.

"No! I was-" She paused momentarily to settle herself as another giggle ruptured from her mouth. "I was just _saying _that your father's coming to school today. In fact, I reckon he's here already."

"Oh, that's…" Al leaned in and kissed her again, molding himself over her petite frame. He felt her fingers twine in his hair and his mind promptly lost itself in clouds. "…So utterly irrelevant right now."

"Al-" Isabel protested but her lips were muffled by his own. He felt her laughter tickle his mouth. "Al, I'm _serious-_" Her hand reached down toward his abdomen and she gently pushed him away.

Al stiffened in shock and Isabel followed suit a second after, both of them realizing that she'd accidentally brushed her hand against a very fundamental aspect of the male anatomy. He disentangled himself from her, his heartbeat suddenly rocketing up to what seemed like a million beats a minute.

"Oops," said Isabel with a nervous chuckle. "Sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"No that's okay," assured Al weakly, glancing down at his trousers, which was pitching quite a tent so to speak. "It's, uh, a normal reaction, I suppose." He glanced at her hastily. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Well, it's—um, flattering," said Isabel, her voice arched a little higher than normal, but he took the pinkness in her cheeks as a good sign. "I reckon we should get going though. People will be waiting for us at the Banquet Hall."

"Right, yeah," agreed Al, a little forlornly. He took several steps away from her and inhaled deeply. "Just give me second to, uh, settle down." He winced inwardly at the pun and she laughed again.

There were several long stretches of silence, but then Al heard a rustle and all of a sudden Isabel was standing quite close to him again. "Al?"

He turned to her questioningly. _She's so beautiful_. Her large doe-eyes, a color that always reminded him of daffodils in a meadow, stared up at him and she smiled.

"Al," she repeated softly, and his heart shuddered at the sound of his name on her lips. "I'm so happy."

Al was only sixteen, but he knew the overpowering emotion in his gut was genuine. He thought of all those years he'd spent as a freckly, scrawny Slytherin pining after the girl of his dreams. He thought about all the long nights, the heartbreak, and how the moment she'd said 'yes' all of it had changed. He thought about how utterly, utterly lucky he was; to be one of the rare few that ever got to be with the people they wanted.

Al was only sixteen but the words flowed out on their own accord and they felt right. "I love you."

She didn't say it back but those beautiful daffodil eyes drunk him in and a hand came up to stroke the side of his face. When she leaned in and planted her lips on his, Al didn't need an answer.

AAA.

Scorpius thought Harry Potter didn't look much like the man described from the history books. The legend was the picture of simplicity, dressed only in a maroon woolen sweater and black trousers. His raven hair was as unkempt as Al's, the ostentatiousness of his clothes was kept to a minimum, and his pale jaw-line was not entirely clean-shaven. He was rather short as well, which made it difficult for Scorpius to keep on eye on him because he disappeared easily behind the crowd of onlookers and admirers.

When it was clear he wouldn't be able to look past the craning heads of other students, Scorpius' eyes fell back to his breakfast and he pointedly ignored the rest of the Banquet Hall, which was manic with the hero's arrival. The room was covered in banners of various shapes and sizes, from the simple faculty greeting ('Welcome back to Hogwarts, Harry Potter') to heart-shaped adoring accolades ('_We _don't mind your scars, Harry!'). A group of Hufflepuff fourth-year girls had even drawn lightning-shaped scars on their foreheads.

_This. Is. Mental. _That was all Scorpius had to say about it.

"Wotcher." Al swept by the Slytherin table and plunked down across from Scorpius, looking fairly nonchalant about the whole ordeal. He was wearing an extremely annoying smile.

"What are you so chipper about?" inquired Scorpius, raising his eyebrows.

Al merely grinned in reply before stuffing a croissant into his mouth. _Ah. Of course_. Scorpius answered in his head. He snuck a glance at Isabel Marrieto, who was now scampering to join the crowd of onlookers.

It was depressing to think how their roles had switched. Potter was now the one using the Marauder's Map to find empty broom closets in the morning, and Scorpius was the one rolling out of bed with nothing but a day full of classes to look forward to.

"This is mental, isn't it?" observed Al.

"I was just thinking it," answered Scorpius as he poured himself a glass of milk. "Shouldn't you go over there or something? Give dear old dad a kiss?"

"Hell no," grimaced Al, his smile dropping for the first time. "It's too early to be photographed by the _Daily Prophet_. If he wants to say hello, he'll come to me. I'm his _son _after all."

Scorpius had noticed out of the corner of his eye that Chantal was snogging Desmond McCormack quite avidly on the Hufflepuff table. He smirked to himself.

Al followed his train of vision and whistled. "She moves fast. From you to Head Boy, eh?"

"McCormack deserves that badge as much as Hagrid deserves the Olympic gold for gymnastics," responded Scorpius, "At any rate, it doesn't matter since _I'll _be Head Boy next year."

Al's eyes widened at the proclamation. "Did I just hear you giving a shit about something for once in your life?"

"I've always given a shit, Potter. _You're_ the one with barely a teaspoon of ambition."

"Do you really think insulting the son of the Auror department's former head is going to get you into the program?" inquired Al with false solemnity, and Scorpius answered by smacking the boy's head with a rolled-up _Witch Weekly_ on the table.

"Oi! What was that, Malfoy?" exclaimed Al in outrage. He grabbed the magazine before Scorpius could get his hands on it again.

Scorpius ducked, chortling, and found himself lobbed beneath the eye as Al responded in kind. "You're a _prick, _Potter," scowled Scorpius, rubbing the aforementioned sore spot. "At least I was original."

"Are you two finished with your cute little catfight?" Scorpius was entirely unsurprised to see Lily Potter standing in front of them again. She had a nasty habit of sneaking up on people. "Good, because I need somewhere peaceful to sit. The Gryffindor table's gone bonkers."

Without another word, the redheaded girl flounced over and flopped next to Al, resting her head on the table with a peeved expression. She promptly reached over to the main platter and picked off a sausage.

"This is the Slytherin table," said Scorpius pointedly.

"So?"

"You are a _Gryffindor_," he emphasized extra slowly.

"Lay off. She's my sister," scolded Al, which prompted Lily to flash Scorpius a triumphant smile. Scorpius grumbled but resumed eating. It was astonishing to see how much brother and sister looked alike with their narrow faces and bright, round eyes.

"James is here," announced Lily. Al rounded on her with a surprised expression.

"I thought he was training full-time with the Cannons."

"Oh he is, but they're having some sort of mid-season break or whatever Quidditch nonsense so he decided to tag along with dad," she replied, waving her hand airily and having already diverted her attention. "Are you going to have those eggs, Al?"

Al pushed his plate at her distractedly. "It makes no sense for the Cannons to have a mid-season break…are they _trying _to turn out bottom of the table this year…"

"Probably has something to do with the Ferguson scandal," reasoned Scorpius as he cut his toast in half, "Pillock should have known better than to sleep with his teammate's wife. I reckon one of them resigned and they're looking for replacements."

"_And _rumor has it they're looking to sign Afanasi, which might take awhile considering it's the _Cannons_," continued Al amusedly, "But then again, the offer's at _three million_…"

Scorpius smirked. "Even with three million Galleons a year, Afanasi would never stoop so bloody low to play with a horde of no-good, cocky…"

The two boys glanced at each other and said simultaneously, "_Wankers._" They both grinned.

Lily stared at the boys, her lips quivering with barely-concealed laughter. "Are you two sleeping together or what?"

"Shut up, Lil."

"Who's sleeping together?" The interruption was Carpathia. She slid gracefully into the seat beside Scorpius and her eyes darted curiously between the three heads, no doubt fostered by what she'd overheard.

"Al and Scorpius. Haven't you heard?" quipped Lily sweetly.

"About time then," answered Carpathia with a smile.

"Why are there _two _Gryffindors sitting at this table? " complained Scorpius rather obnoxiously.

"Gareth's my brother," pointed out Carpathia. Then she reached out to the fruit-basket and plucked a grape from its stem, promptly settling the matter.

"Speaking of brothers, I think I just saw James," she added with a careful glance at Al.

"So everyone keeps telling me. Where is the prat anyway?"

"You mean James? I'd say he's probably catching up with the rest of the prats in Gryffindor Tower," chimed in Louis, who entered the conversation by dropping into the seat next to Carpathia.

"Hullo, you," greeted Louis as he poked the girl cheerfully in the ribs. Carpathia grunted in response.

Scorpius felt an immediate stab of irritation at the sight of the boy grinning ear to ear. His teeth were so damn white he might as well have taken a swig of bleach. Scorpius wished he had.

"I thought Ravenclaws were supposed to be intelligent," he sneered. He didn't like feeling threatened, but Frenchy's sickeningly slick looks was putting him second-best in appearance and he couldn't have that. He could sense the boy's self-confidence oozing out of every pore in his skin. "This is the Slytherin table."

"I think we've established that no one cares," yawned Al, stuffing his mouth full of sausage.

"Are you wearing the newest set of Adonis and Aravisrobes?" remarked Louis interestedly. He reached out and touched the sleeve of Scorpius' shirt with an expert finger. Startled, the Slytherin yanked his arm back and responded quite childishly:

"_No_." It was a lie, but he didn't like to think that Louis and him shared anything in common-much less decent fashion sense.

"Could have sworn they were," sighed Louis with genuine disappointment. "I modeled for A&A a few times, you know."

Scorpius rolled his eyes. " 'Course you did."

"You two should swap magazines," suggested Al seriously, having now swallowed his food. "Malfoy keeps a copy of _Adonis Wizardwear _under his pillow."

"Potter likes to indulge in hallucinations."

"Please. I've _seen _it-"

"They're sleeping together," explained Lily with a smirk, and Louis raised his eyebrows and nodded as though this was a perfectly legitimate conclusion.

"Malfoy's sleeping with someone? Tell us something new," They were interrupted yet _again_ by an unwelcome male voice, this time belonging to Rowan Thomas. Scorpius swiveled around, having had quite enough with the lack of Slytherins on the scene and determined to tell the Ravenclaw to _fuck off_—

The words drowned in his throat.

"What are you lot sitting here with the Slytherins for?" interjected the voice of Rose Weasley, and the girl's face popped up behind Rowan's tall frame.

"_I _came because it was too bloody loud everywhere else and this was only place I could hear myself," said Lily.

"But most importantly, we're trying to get under Malfoy's skin," added Al with a grave nod.

"Well, I can definitely get on board with that," said Rose, her smile widening. She hopped into the seat next to Scorpius. Rowan followed suit, sitting opposite from her. The two of them helped themselves to the leftover food on the table (_Rude_, thought Scorpius distantly), and when Rose leaned over to grasp the apple in the fruit-basket, the tips of her red hair brushed his knuckles.

He reflexively drew his hand back and tightened it, feeling a tingle where the hairs had touched him. When he raised his head up, he registered her eyes darting away from his and the slight reddening in her cheeks. Feeling rather flustered himself, he angled his gaze away from her and realized that four other pairs of eyes were trained on him.

"What?"

"Aren't you going to say something?" asked Lily expectantly.

Scorpius shrugged and responded acidly, "I'm clearly the odd one out, since the only other Slytherin here decided to become a traitorous bastard." Al laughed.

"Oh _rot_, he ruins the fun just when I arrive. How typical," said Rose with a weak laugh. "Thanks, Malfoy."

So they were back to witty banters again? Scorpius found the idea unsettling.

"Al, how long do you think Harry's going to spend on the DADA lecture?" Rowan was asking the redheaded boy, who was still keen on scarfing down the rest of his breakfast.

"Mmfh nowhidee." Al swallowed, and repeated: "No idea. Dad doesn't really like places where he gets too much public exposure so it's rare of him to come to Hogwarts like this without early notice."

"I'd love to learn how to conjure up a wicked Patronus," mused Rowan, "I still don't know what mine looks like. Do your remember that time he told the story about-"

There was a sudden, massive _crack, _quite like the sound of a shoulder popping out of its joint, and Scorpius instinctively reacted by grabbing the aforementioned body-part to ensure it was still intact. Others reacted differently around the table; Lily let out a little shriek and Al choked violently on his milk.

There was a loud sputter of laughter and a figure materialized before them.

"Sorry I didn't mean to startle you," said a voice that sounded oddly similar to Al's but deeper in tone, and Scorpius realized with a flash that the figure standing before them was _Harry Potter_.

"Dad!" said Al indignantly, prompting Lily to call out the same word in a much more affronted manner. "It's really bloody irritating when you do that."

"Can't be helped," said the man (or Mr. Potter, which was what Scorpius settled on what to call him), "I had to get away from the press. They'll notice in about a minute or so that I've Disapparated and wonder where I've gone off."

"I didn't even know you could Apparate within Hogwarts."

"Neville lends me special previleges," responded Mr. Potter with a twinkle in his green eyes. "It was about time I got a rest and said hello to my children anyway."

"Oh _dad_," echoed Lily with an exasperated sigh. She leapt up from the table and skipped over to throw her arms around her father. Al followed a second later, his mouth twitching into a smile. Mr. Potter held his children for several seconds and then pulled away to scan the rest of the heads at the table. Feeling as though he very, very much did not belong there at the moment, Scorpius avoided the man's inquisitive gaze.

"Hello to all of you," greeted Mr. Potter pleasantly as he tucked his wand away into his pocket. "Rose, Louis, good to see you both in fine health. Rowan, you look _much _taller than I remember-"

"—It's Ginny's cooking, sir," grinned Rowan, "If I keep visiting over the summer, I'll be a giant soon."

Mr Potter chuckled and then his eyes fell on Carpathia and Scorpius, who had remained silent during this whole exchange. "Are these your friends, Albus?"

Al cleared his throat. "Erm, yeah. This is Carpathia Nott and…" There was a brief fraction of a moment where he hesitated, "Scorpius."

_He conveniently left out my surname_. Scorpius met the man's gaze resolutely with his own, and by the flash of recognition across Mr. Potter's features, he knew the man was aware of who he was. He had always been told he looked so much like his father.

But Mr. Potter merely nodded and replied in that tranquil, smiling way of his: "Fantastic." Then, he reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like an odd silver contraption with various knobs and dials.

"Dad, not the _camera_," groaned Al.

Mr. Potter simply continued smiling. "It's all for good fun, Al. Your mother and I need a few snapshots of you and your sister while you're both at school. It'll only take a second."

Lily rolled her eyes and dragged Al back to the table despite his grumbling protests. "Okay, then. Squeeze in, everybody," she instructed to all the blank faces staring up at her and demonstrated the motion with her arms. "This will be quick and painless."

Scorpius wasn't entirely certain what was happening, but all of a sudden he had been crammed into minimal space with a group of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws (with the exception of Al) and was now staring into the lens of Harry Potter's camera. He could feel Rose squirming in discomfort right next to him and caught the faint whiff of fresh leaves emanating from her hair, no doubt from the shampoo she used. Then, there was a white flash and he blinked several times as the people next to him broke apart and headed back to their original seats. He wasn't even sure if he'd been smiling.

There was suddenly a loud roar from the front of the room and the incessant clicking sounds of camera flashes ceased. It appeared that people had realized the subject of their attention had disappeared (quite literally) into thin air.

Mr. Potter pocketed the camera and stated offhandedly, "That's my cue to leave. I expect to see all of you at one'o'clock." He fixed a stern look on Al. "Especially you, Albus, after recently hearing from the Potions Master that you conveniently skived off class this morning."

"I've got a really good reason for it, I swear," replied Al bashfully.

"And I look forward to hearing it from you later," said his father. "Try not to get into a fight with James today."

And with another resounding _crack_, the hero of the Wizarding World disappeared.

AAA.

"Do you think we're at the right age to know what love is?"

The question dropped between Al and Carpathia like an anchor. As if to accompany the notion, a book slipped out of Carpathia's arms and hit the floor with a loud clunk.

Al bent down to retrieve it for her and amended himself quickly, "I know it's a weird thing to ask."

She accepted the book he handed back to her. "Not particularly." _Because I know what you really want to ask, and what's more important is that I know the answer to that question. _

_Oh, Al. You might think you're in love but you deserve better. _

She didn't have much of a chance to say that, however, because at that moment James had rounded the corridor. At the sight of the charmingly disheveled young man, her blood turned to grit.

"Al!" crowed James, his face erupting into an unexpectedly wide smile. His hand immediately went to his hair to execute a casual rumple.

Al's jaw dropped and he stepped forward. "You're actually _here_, James? I wouldn't have pegged you as the sort to come back to school."

"Well, there's where you're wrong, Skrewt," said James. He strode forward and swung his arm around Al, pulling the younger boy into a firm embrace. Al's form went rigid with shock. "Blimey, no need to be so stiff. S'not like I smell or anything. I put on _cologne_ today, would you believe it?"

He looked up over Al's shoulder and nodded briefly to acknowledge Carpathia's presence. "Wotcher, Nott."

Carpathia stood rooted in her place, her expression stony.

"Anyway, what have you been up to?" said James affably, detaching himself with Al and giving him a pat on the back.

"Just…er…school, y'know. The usual," responded Al a little dazedly. There was a faint glimmer of wonder in his eyes as he gazed up at his brother. "We had tryouts the other day…" 

"Busy busy being Captain, eh?" said James with a knowing nod.

"Well, yeah…I mean," Al shook his head, as though he was attempting to clear his head. "It's not very interesting. _You're _the professonal Quidditch player, aren't you? How's life with the Cannons?"

James shrugged and shot Al a lazy smile. "It's a lot more parties and a lot less pitch-time than I imagined that's for sure."

"I heard you're off-season now? Bit odd, isn't it?"

"I can't really say anything about it, media confidentiality clause and what not, but if you're looking for a reason the tabloids might be correct for once," said James with a meaningful look. "To tell you the bloody truth, we're really not up to league standards. I mean, I just graduated from _school_ and I'm still pulling off better numbers than Ridley or Darrundale. That's saying something, innit?"

"Your stats are higher than _Ridley's_? Cor, James, that's brilliant."

"You _see_? I've missed this!" exclaimed James suddenly, punctuating the statement with a frustrated sigh. Al opened his mouth in confusion but James cut him off. "You and me and Quidditch talk? Before things got so bloody _competitive _between the two of us? I've got to tell you, Al, I've been doing a lot mulling in my head and the way we got on during my last year here…well, it just wasn't right."

Carpathia's hackles went up. She watched the exchange with narrowed eyes.

"You—you think?" Al was saying quite weakly-as though he couldn't believe it.

"Yeah. I've had some time to get away from all this and just…finally saw past my fat head, you know?" admitted James solemnly.

Al opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. "I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"There's no other shoe, I swear," said James, holding his hands up. The corner of his mouth crinkled. "You've been a patient bugger with me the past few years, judging from the way I've been acting, and you didn't deserve it."

"Blimey…I…." Al was at a loss of words. "Thanks, James."

"New start," said James with a resolute nod. Al seemed to be absorbing the words quite dimly, for he only responded with a nod of his own several laggard seconds later. "Well, you two should be heading off to dad's lecture soon. I reckon he won't be pleased if you're late." James' eyes had flickered down to his brand-new leather watch, and then had glanced over at the mute Carpathia. "I'll be helping him out on stage."

"On _stage_?" repeated Al, "What's dad planning to do? Tap-dance?"

James rolled his eyes. "Just because I've decided to be a nicer big brother doesn't mean you get to be thick, Al." And with a tousle of his younger brother's hair, to which Al reacted with a scowl, James lightly tread off into the distance.

"Can you believe him?" echoed Al with traces of the scowl still on his face, although he looked significantly happier than he'd been before.

"No," replied Carpathia flatly, realizing that her fists were clenched. She had never been particularly fond of James Potter, but he was starting to drive her up the wall. She couldn't shake off the haunting suspicion that there were ulterior motives behind his sudden amicability, given what she'd recently learnt about him. For god's sake, Al had spent five years coming to conclusion that he couldn't trust his brother and now it was all coming to rot.

"He's got better stats than _Ridley _though…I should tell Iz, though she probably wouldn't be too interested…"

Carpathia snapped. The words burst out of her mouth in a manic fervor: "Please tell me you are _not _in love with Isabel."

Al froze, his face morphing into bewilderment. "Sorry?"

"Don't tell me you love her, Al," she repeated, shaking her head. "It's not right."

"It's not _right_?" said Al, his voice rising. "For Merlin's sake, whatdo you have against her_ now_?"

"Nothing! She's perfectly _lovely _and _innocent…_you might as well charm a permanent halo to her head!" She didn't mean to sound so vicious, but her bitterness had gotten the better of her.

"It's been two years," stated Al, drawing out the words slowly like he couldn't quite figure out the taste of them in his mouth. "Even after _two years_, you can't accept the fact she's my girlfriend."

"It's notthat."

Al snorted loudly.

"When I told you about Devon, youwere the one that said we were too young to be in love," she accused softly. "You were only looking out for me then. Now I'm looking out for you."

"You were _in tears_, Thia," said Al with an incredulous stare, "Because _Devon _was off with that Adara _cow-_" He held up his hands and cut himself off. "No. I'm not even going to bother pissing myself off. It's a good thing that bastard got himself expelled because I would've never let him get away with—after what he did to you-" He was struggling to finish the sentence, but his flushed, angry cheeks said it all.

"Yeah, I remember," Carpathia intervened coolly.

"And this has _nothing _to do with Devon because you haven't got any sodding reason to hate Isabel the way I hate him. Isabel's been nothing but a bloody angel and, to be honest, I'm having a hard time trusting your judgment this time around-"

"So that's itthen? I made a mistake and you won't listen to me anymore?" replied Carpathia and she slammed the wall angrily with a balled-up fist, "In case you've forgotten, Al, we've been mates _much longer _than you and Isabel have been going out and if you still think I don't have your best interests at heart after _six years_, then I don't know what our friendship is worth!"

Their breathing had both escalated to the same rapid pace. In the shocked silence the two of them stared each other, both aware that there was something beyond friendship at stake here. And at that moment, Carpathia was frightened. Frightened that, for the first time, their friendship might have lost its value.

"I don't want to fight," exhaled Al and the tension in his shoulders dissipated. "I don't want to lose you, Thia. Just…please…try to understand the position I'm in."

With a shake of his head, he strode off into the distance in a decidedly irritated manner. And although Carpathia knew he was angry, she couldn't help but feel a wave of relief.

Because no matter how much how strongly Al felt for Isabel, he'd made it clear that their friendship came first. _She _came first…and that was equal to winning.

AAA.

The classroom for Defense Against the Dark Arts was no longer a classroom. The walls, which had previously been bare and rather dull, were now plastered with vivid House banners. Strips of black mats with the words '_Finite Incantatum' _etched in silvering lettering dotted the floor. The room itself had been magically altered so it held a circular shape, naturally inclining its occupants to face the elevated platform at its center.

The fifth, sixth, and seventh years found themselves hovering cautiously at the edges of the room, all chattering rather nervously (or, in some cases, excitedly) to themselves. No one save for several stoic-faced seventh-years seemed to understand what was going on.

Harry Potter materialized on the platform quietly and adjusted the microphone on his podium. This was performed with such little fanfare that it was only after a minute or so that the students realized their mentor's presence and snapped to attention. The chattering died down to a silence.

The Hero of the Wizarding World gazed out at them in surprise. "Good lord, are these really Hogwarts students? I've never come across a group so tame." He smiled and raised an arm. "Come closer."

His voice, which had a very pleasant tone to it indeed, prompted the entire student body to shuffle forward, spilling into the breadth of the room until masses of faces were crowded around Mr. Potter wearing looks of awe.

Scorpius Malfoy stayed in his position at the back of the room and found satisfaction in observing the people jostling around him. Al and several of their Quidditch teammates were pooled in a convenient position near the front. A couple rows ahead were the closely nestled heads of Chantal and Desmond McCormack. Scorpius couldn't help thinking that the sight of her flowing, amber curls next to McCormack's sharp blond strands created an all-too-familiar picture. _Oh Chantal, you're so bloody transparent. _

It was still a cause of irritation, however, and Scorpius had to tear his eyes away to keep his expression blank. He found his gaze landing inadvertently on Rose Weasley.

She was staring directly at him.

The sudden electric jolt in his chest was mirrored by the spasm of panic that crossed her face. He closed his eyes quickly and reopened them again. She was now staring determinedly at her uncle on the platform, her jaw tight and her mouth pressed together.

Without really contemplating why, Scorpius silently shouldered past the throng of people in her direction. It took him only ten steps to arrive at Rose Weasley's side. He glanced side-ways at her neutral expression, desperately wondering why it was always so hard to decipher what she was thinking.

She spoke first. "You again." And Scorpius was strangely relieved she hadn't ignored him.

"Me again," he murmured back in reply.

"Excited?"

"I actually moved my hair appointment to Thursday so no, not so much."

Rose smacked his arm but the smile flitted over her face. "You're funny, Malfoy."

There it was again; that tingle where she had touched him. "We never got to finish that conversation the other day. How were the rest of your holidays?"

She grimaced. "My grandfather must have force-fed me a hundred cinnamon scones, thanks to you."

Scorpius' mouth twitched. Then, Harry Potter's magnified voice carried out across the room and both of them turned towards the stage.

"Good afternoon to all of you." Mr. Potter took on an altogether different personality on stage than he did in person. He held an empowering sort of presence, one that simply commanded attention without really trying. "Most of you have heard stories of the Wizarding War. Most of you have indulged in the stories of so-called 'heroes', whether it was because of actual fact or media propaganda," he chuckled faintly to himself. "Though I will clear the air and confirm that yes, I did inadvertently perform an engorgio charm on my dear aunt—or was it aunt twice removed? I can't remember."

Faint titters of laughter echoed from the student body.

Mr. Potter smiled. "And I'm certain that all of you know who I am and what I've done. You've heard it from history books, television, or your parents no doubt. But I beg you to stop and ponder this question: _what _exactly have I done?"

There was a ringing pause and the hero's face turned somber. "Contrary to popular belief, I did not overcome Voldemort due to miraculous, mystical feats of magic. I did not attempt the impossible. I was not the brightest of my generation nor the bravest or even the most adept at spell-work. I was, simply put, a boy who came across a solid amount of luck and just the right amount of people who loved him."

Like many others in the room, Scorpius had not been expecting such a speech. The silence that resonated after the man's words was only broken when he heard Rose whisper beside him:

"He practiced that in front of a mirror for days, you know. Uncle Harry has horrible nerves."

He angled his face towards her and raised an eyebrow. "Not bad."

She shrugged. "My mum's loads better. I would know; I went to a million of her press conferences this summer."

The words tumbled out before he could stop it. "Can't have been too bad of a summer, though, could it? I hear you were quite active on the dating scene."

It was a bizarre change of subject and Scorpius felt a twist in his gut when her smile fell instantly. Nonetheless, she replied with rather stiff tones, "It was only a couple blokes."

"A couple? _Oho_. And here I thought it was just the one. Well done, Weasley." He fought to keep the cynicism from his voice. _For fuck's sake, I'm not even supposed to care._

He fixed his gaze back on the lecture with grounded teeth, ignoring the flash of mortification across her face.

"The essence of winning a magical war is not to brandish horcruxes or immortal objects," Mr. Potter was saying, "And one does not need to be as powerful as Albus Dumbledore to overcome darkness. That inexplicable force that lies in every mind of a witch or wizard is enough. Anyone can be a hero, so long as they understand how to channel that force correctly."

Mr. Potter's smile twitched. "Today, I will be passing on one of the most valuable lessons I've ever learned, a lesson I taught onto a group of young men and women no older than yourselves twenty-seven years ago in this very castle."

"They asked a similar question as no doubt many of you do now: '_what is the secret? Why are you the Chosen One?'"_. Mr. Potter exhaled. "But there is no secret. As I mentioned before, it was a ridiculous amount of good fortune and learning quickly how to defend myself. Defense." The word spelled itself out in the air in scarlet, flaming letters behind the man. "It is perhaps the most essential and, in some cases, the most effective form of attack. An _expelliarmus _charm casted just in time can toe the line between life and death. Keep that in mind for today's dueling practice."

_Dueling, _thought Scorpius as a wave of excited murmurs rippled out around him. _Well, that should be interesting_. But it was hard for him to revel in light of recently uncovered information.

His eyes wandered over to Rose again in frustration. For a sensible girl, it was odd to see Rose so unperturbed by her sudden burst of promiscuity over the summer. In fact, it bothered him how she_ wasn't _bothered.

"Weasley."

She turned to him, wary. "What?"

He had no clue what he wanted to say, only that he was violently irritated—from a combination of multiple things but, really, mostly her. He wanted her to say something clever, even insulting, anything to relieve him of this dreadful, burning itch in his chest that was a result of the realization that it was suddenly _so fucking _irritating that some waiter had put his hands on her—

He heard himself utter the words in low and tense tones as if from a distance. "I don't think I can go back to the way things were before."

Her mouth fell open in surprise and Mr. Potter's voice, which had now escalated in volume, filled the void.

"Of each dueling pair, we will have one who will use purely 'attack-based' spells and the other who will be using purely 'defense-based' spells. As fifth-years and up, I _trust_ you all know the difference." He eyed the student body meaningfully. "Each pair will switch roles when I call 'reverse'."

"As most of you know, a duel is won when the opposing party is disarmed or lies immobile for ten seconds. At this point, both parties _must_ undo each other's spells with '_finite incantatum'_ and mark the end of the duel." Mr. Potter flicked his wand and a row of lights in the ceiling burst into illumination, casting white spotlights on each black dueling mat below.

"I should also remind you that Unforgivables are not allowed." There was a brief round of laughter around the room. "And I would like it if no one partners up with a person from their own House." He winked. "You'll find it much more interesting that way. Now go on, get into your pairs!"

The students erupted into action, calling out names and reaching out for friends in other houses. As shoulders and heads jostled past Scorpius, he stared at Rose's open-mouthed expression indeterminedly for several more seconds before turning away. From the corner of his eye, he saw Rowan sidle up to her with an invitation, '_Partner, yeah?_', and heard her soft reply: '_Of course_.'

Scorpius strode off and cast out thoughts of Rose Weasley from his mind. He clenched the wand in his hand with new fervor. _Time to beat someone's bloody arse at magic_.

AAA.

"So do you want to-"

"Hey, Thia, thanks for saving us a spot!" Louis slid in front of Carpathia with ease and shouldered out Richie Montgomery, who had no doubt been about to ask her if she wanted to be his partner despite the fact that Mr. Potter had clearly elucidated not to. "Sorry, Rich, didn't see you there."

Richie cast Louis a look that was a mix between bewilderment and hostility before walking off with a grumble.

Amusement danced in Louis' eyes. "He's hopeless, isn't he?"

Carpathia rolled her eyes and her gaze flickered back to Al and Isabel, who were standing at a distance over Louis' shoulder. She had expected the two of them to pair up but that didn't mean she liked it. Clearly Mr. Potter shared the same sentiments; he was looking at Al with barely-concealed exasperation.

"So do you want to be on attack or defense, Thia darling?" Louis was asking.

Carpathia threw him an annoyed look. "Stop calling me that. Only Al calls me that."

Louis shrugged. "Whatever you want, Carps."

She drew out her wand. "On second's thoughts, I'll be on attack."

Louis grinned. "Brilliant."

She cast off another bout of irritation and instead proceeded to perform the customary opening ritual. The two of them bowed to one another and then walked to opposite ends of the mat.

"Begin?" Louis called out.

"Begin," she responded. She didn't even have to think. "_Impendimenta_!"

The sudden curse threw Louis off-guard. He bounded up in the air, robes flying, and landed spread-eagled on the floor.

"_C'est quoi ce bordel_!" he exclaimed indignantly, doubling over with a groan. His wand clattered to the side. "Angry much?"

"Fair's fair," she replied crisply, striding over to him. "Now tell me what you know about me and Al."

"Is that what this is about? Because I was clever enough to figure it out?" said Louis with another groan. "It was _nothing_. Just an educated guess."

"Put it out of your head then because it's not true."

"Oh really? You're doing a bang-up job right now of convincing me," replied Louis sarcastically.

Carpathia turned on her heel and stode off back to her original. "Again."

She heard him clamber to his feet and he called out behind her, "Fine! It was Rose! I asked her about it and she said it was all in the past but, I mean, _clearly _it isn't-"

Carpathia whirled around. "_Tarantegella_!" A jet of blue light shot out of her wand towards the boy but this time Louis was prepared.

"_Protego_!" he replied, and a red circle of light bloomed out of his wand, deflecting the previous spell. "Look, I'm not going to tell anyone. I just wanted you to know that you can trust me-"

"I barely _know _you," she interrupted with a scoff. "And you still haven't given me a solid reason as to why you want to be friends."

"I told you, there's no logic to it_. _I just think you're a good person!" he deflected with a rather furious expression. "That's—that's how I work, alright? Maybe it's a Veela thing to have keen instincts. I don't think, I feel, and I have this _feeling _that you're rather special-"

"_Incendio_!" she replied, and a plume of fire shot out of her wand. Louis' eyes widened in registration just split-seconds before an arc of water splashed out of his wand and disintegrated the flame into a puff of smoke. _Non-verbal Aguamenti charm_, thought Carpathia with a faint stroke of admiration. _Not bad. _"I don't believe you."

Louis puffed out his lips in frustration and cast a drying spell on his clothes. "What have I done to make me so untrustworthy?"

"It's nothing you've done. It's what you _are_," she retorted, crossing her arms. "Good-looking, careless, lots of nice pretty words coming out of your mouth." She wiped water out of her eyes. "I've met blokes like you. They don't want _friendship_. They want-"

"Oh believe me, you're not my type," said Louis with a roll of his eyes. "And you can't just put the entire male species under one stereotype just because you came across one that was a delinquent who got himself expelled-"

"_Expelliarmus_!" shouted Carpathia and Louis, who had not been expecting her to break the rules and use a Defense spell, flew backwards again. As he catapulted towards the ground this time, his wand sailed through the air and slipped itself neatly into her hand. "Finite Incantatum."

She'd won the duel but it somehow didn't feel quite like winning. Louis coughed and got to his feet and all she wanted to do was punch him until he was down on the ground again. It wasn't fair, really, how his Veela charms were still working their magic on her and she just wanted to stroke those delicate blond tufts of hair. It was a bloody nuisance.

So instead, she walked over and dropped his wand on his chest. "Don't act as if you know me," she said quietly. "Just because you've done your research doesn't make you an expert."

Louis gazed at her with an expression that could've almost characterized as sad. "I'm sorry. I just want someone to talk to."

_About what? _For once, she looked into those beautiful blue eyes and believed that Louis had secrets he couldn't share with anyone else.

"Is he bothering you?" She turned and saw, to her utmost surprise, that Gareth was standing behind her with his hands clenched at the sides. He was glaring at Louis with an expression of unmatched animosity, one she had never seen before.

"No, Gareth, he's not," she answered in confusion. "And I can handle it. Shouldn't you be with Bixby?"

"Yes," called out Bixby, Gareth's dueling partner, who was standing behind her brother with his arms crossed impatiently. "C'mon, Nott, Harry Potter's looking this way."

"Not before I settle something with this prick," seethed Gareth. He brushed past Carpathia and seized Louis by the neck of his robes. Far from being alarmed, however, Louis seemed to be immensely enjoying himself. He flashed Gareth a lazy smile.

"Easy on the clothes. They're designer."

"Stuff it!" yelled Gareth, shoving Louis to the ground. "Stop harassing my sister, got it? Nobody wants you around, you sodding shit. Nobody wants to be your friend. So you can just _fuck off_ back to that posh school of yours, yeah?"

Carpathia was shocked. "_Gareth_!" She had never seen Gareth so livid.

A cold, rattling air had descended upon Louis and seemed to wipe out all traces of his usual genial self. The boy rose to full height with his eyes flashing ice. "Make me, Nott."

That's when Gareth punched him.

AAA.

"What's that? 3-1 for me?" smirked Rose as she stood above Rowan, who had flown a good five meters and was now lying sprawled at the opposite end of the mat.

Rowan uttered a loud moan and then rolled over on his back. "I'm pretty sure the last one wasn't a defensive spell, Red."

"Actually, the Body-bind was originally designed as a safety spell for witches in the 1800's to prevent themselves from being assaulted by men on the prowl-"

"Okay, I believe you," conceded Rowan with raised hands. He flickered her a wry smile. "Men on the prowl?"

Rose shrugged. "The book said it, not me." She reached out her hand. "Come on. I'll let you be on defense this time though I doubt it'll do you any good."

Rowan rolled his eyes and, instead of grabbing her hand, reached out for her arm and pulled her down next to him. Rose yelped as her knees thumped to the ground. "Jesus, Thomas. What was that was for?"

"There. Now you know what that feels like," he replied, rolling on his side to face her. It was rather comical sight; the two of them lying flat on the floor with curses and spells bounding off around them. "Besides, we haven't been able to talk much lately. Just the two of us, I mean."

Rose's mouth twitched. "What, _now_? During dueling practice?"

"Better a time as any," replied Rowan with his brown eyes sparkling.

"Right," she nodded solemnly. She rolled also to her side and faced him, mirroring his posture. "What shall we talk about then? The weather or Professor Fell's new sideburns?"

"I was just wondering," he said casually, "That bloke you were going on about on the train home last term, did you finally get him out of your mind?"

Rose fingered the black plaster of the mat. "As best as I could."

Rowan's gaze fell on her so intensified that she had to look away. "Which means what, Red?"

"It means," replied Rose with careful precision. "I'm back on track."

"Ah," said Rowan, a crinkle creasing his brow. "Well, that's good."

She gazed at him curiously. "Why do you ask?"

A smile filled the entirety of Rowan's face. "Just a man on the prowl, I guess."

"Rose, Rowan, off the floor!" Harry's voice boomed out in their near proximity. Rose scrambled to her feet and looked sheepishly at her uncle, who was shaking his head ruefully at them. "Thomas, you're too slow on the retaliation. Don't let our Rosie get the better of you because of timing. She's not as good of a marksman as you. Carry on."

She glanced over at Rowan, who was sporting a strange flush in his dark cheeks. Before she could make a joke about the situation, however, a loud clang resonated from the other side of the room and a series of yells ruptured out.

"_Wanker!" _

"_Je t'encule_!" 

And then Carpathia's unexpectedly loud shriek: "_Will you two stop it?_"

AAA.

Scorpius found himself paired off with Zachary Madden, a big-boned sixth-year Hufflepuff who seemed better off without his wand than with it. Zachary's oafish reflexes and lack of casting accuracy quickly became a bore. In fifteen minutes, Scorpius had disarmed Zachary a total of eight times and was beginning to wonder if he was actually going to learn anything from the class.

That was when Gareth and Louis had begun throwing fists at each other and Mr. Potter called for a respite.

The matter was resolved quickly. Mr. Potter separated the pair and deducted twenty points off both Ravenclaw and Slytherin. He then promptly began rearranging partners.

"Ms. Nott, is it?" Mr. Potter addressed Carpathia with a brief touch on the shoulder. "You'll pair up with Albus."

"James, step in and fill in as Ms. Marrieto's partner, please." Al's smile fell but he disentangled his hand from his girlfriend's and walked towards Carpathia. James silently took his place across from Isabel.

"Louis, you'll be with Bixby and Mr. Nott…will pair up with Mr. Madden over here." Scorpius started as Mr. Potter stepped into close proximity of him and his partner. For several long seconds, the man appraised Scorpius with unreadable green eyes. Scorpius tried not to look away, instead focusing on the shape of Harry Potter's nose and how similar it was to Al's. It's not as if he hadn't stared down green eyes before.

"Malfoy, you'll partner with Shacklebolt."

Scorpius' stomach plummeted as the lithe, muscular form of Vince Shacklebolt appeared behind Mr. Potter. The seventh-year's calm and relaxed demeanor indicated that he was clearly unperturbed by the change in partnership but that was only to be expected. Vince Shacklebolt was one of the best spell-casters of his year and had been accepted early into the Auror department's elite training program.

Gareth's shoulder brushed past him as he took Scorpius' former place across from Madden. Scorpius glared at his friend incredulously. _What'd you have to go and sock Weasley for?_ But the other Slytherin merely grunted and cast another filthy look in Louis' direction.

"Right," clapped Mr. Potter, suddenly cheery again. "Back to your partners please."

Scorpius turned to Vince with what he hoped was a fairly nondescript look on his face. The brown-skinned boy was twirling his wand casually in one hand. When he smiled at Scorpius, his white teeth flashed. "So do you want to be on attack or should I?"

Scorpius shrugged, his own teeth setting. "Fine by me."

AAA.

Al had a strong suspicion his father had purposely separated him and Isabel to keep him focused on the class. It was a wise move, he supposed, since he could hardly take Stunning Isabel seriously after just telling her 'I love you' a few hours ago.

For whatever reasons Al couldn't fathom, Carpathia didn't seem all that happy with the arrangement either. She took her place across from Al with barely-concealed annoyance.

"Oh come on. I'm not that bad, am I?" chided Al as they both drew out their wands. "You could be with someone worst—y'know, like Finnegan. At least I don't set people on fire."

Carpathia shook her head. "It's not you. I just…I can't believe Gareth lost his ruddy temper again. Over _what_, exactly? Defending my honor?" She snorted and several crimson sparks drizzled out of her wand.

"Maybe he's on his period," suggested Al. "Anyway, uh, do you want to be on attack or should I…" He looked up to see Carpathia's attention drifted again, her eyes fixed on something above his shoulder. "Oi. Hello?" He turned to see what had piqued her interest.

She was looking at James and Isabel, who by their oddly tense postures seemed to be in the middle of an argument. When Isabel's face suddenly angled towards Al, he noted the foreign crease in her brow and the clench of her mouth.

Al smirked to himself. He found Isabel's cold streak towards James refreshing, even if it was slightly problematic for the family. He turned back to Carpathia. The girl's eyes were still narrowed at the pair. Good lord, was everyone on edge today?

"Don't mind them," said Al dismissively. "Izzie's still a little rubbed over how much of a prat James was last year. I'll sort them out soon enough."

Carpathia's eyes flickered back to Al. "Right, yeah," she replied with a humorless laugh.

Al studied her for several moments, feeling frustrated. What was the matter _now_? He exhaled. "Hey. Don't…uh mind what happened this morning, yeah? I didn't mean to bring up Devon or-"

"I've put it out of my mind, Al," she replied firmly. Then, so softly Al almost couldn't hear, she added: "It's not your fault."

AAA.

He was losing. So far, Vince had gotten the better of his defensive maneuvers four times and he'd only managed to disarm him twice. It was clear why Shacklebolt was top of his class. He had an extremely broad mental arsenal of spells, some spells that Scorpius had never even heard of, and his execution was flawless.

"_Criantus_!" shouted Vince and several stream of bright white light shot out of his wand like silver arrows. Scorpius, having no idea what the counter-spell was, ducked and cast a non-verbal Shield Charm. One of the rays of light grazed his arm and evoked a sharp, stinging sensation. He looked down and noted that a rather shallow gash had appeared on his forearm.

He got to his feet and yelled, "_Ventus_!" and a blast of wind knocked Vince to the floor. The boy landed expertly on his side, still gripping his wand, and opened his mouth to perform a retaliation.

"_Leviosa_!" Scorpius felt himself lifted in the air. "_Arais Reducto!" _

_Shit, _thought Scorpius as the ground closed in on him. He landed on the floor with a loud thunk and pain radiated up his arm. _That's going to fucking bruise. _

Groaning slightly, Scorpius climbed back up to full stature and reached for his wand but his hands closed on empty air. When Scorpius looked up he saw Vince twirling his wand between his fingers, no doubt having performed a non-verbal Disarming spell. "Not bad, Malfoy."

"Not bad, indeed," cut in a speculative voice behind them. Scorpius swiveled around to see Harry Potter watching them with his arms folded. He looked pleasantly entertained.

Scorpius wasn't quite sure he heard right. "Sorry?"

Mr. Potter strode over and placed two fingers on the hand that Scorpius was holding his wand. "You're gripping it too tight. Don't be nervous."

He _was_ nervous. Why was Harry Potter so keen on watching him? Was he afraid Scorpius might do something drastic, explode a few lamps maybe? Scorpius wiped the sweat from the side of his face and forced himself to look behind the man's glinting glasses. Mr. Potter's eyes were surprisingly kind.

"You want the wrist to be flexible, especially if you're in the middle of combat," Mr. Potter continued, taking out his own wand and demonstrating by performing several wand movements. "Your mind might find the right spell but it won't work if your body's too stiff to execute the correct movement, will it?"

He stepped backwards and faced Vince in a dueling position, his legs spread apart and spine straight. Vince slowly assumed a similar stance. "Dueling isn't only about knowledge of spells, it's about physical utilization of space. You want your feet light, your body angle a little more closed, and your arms as near your body as possible so that no stray spells catch your limbs."

Mr. Potter made a beckoning motion at Vince and the boy hesitatingly muttered the incantation of a Stinging Hex. In response, Mr. Potter shifted quickly so that his side was facing his opponent and cast a beautiful _Protego. _His Shield Charm bloomed outward like a voluptuous rose and allowed the spell to rebound.

"You see? I angled my body to minimize exposure while on the defense. You want to create a smaller pocket of space within your territory so that your Shield Charms don't require so much effort. Now, on the attack…" He gestured at Vince again, who quickly went back to starting position. Mr. Potter deftly leapt to the side and wordlessly cast a spell that curved around the outer rim of the mat, aiming for Vince's left. The boy barely had time to raise up his Shield Charm before the spell collided and disintegrated into a shower of sparks.

"I caught him at a surprising angle," explained Mr. Potter, turning to Scorpius with a smile. "Every wizard has a good wand-arm and a weaker one. Identify your opponent's weaker side and use your _space _to exploit that advantage."

"Yes, sir," said Scorpius in low tones. _Sir? _He repeated in his mind incredulously. _Since when? _But it had seemed fitting.

"No need for that, Mr. Malfoy," replied Mr. Potter lightly, clapping Scorpius on the shoulder. "Now do it again. And this time," he aimed his wand at his throat, instantly allowing his voice to magnify, "Can I have everyone's attention please?"

The clamor in the room died down and all heads turned in their direction. Mr. Potter raised his arms. "Brilliant work I've seen today. Some improvement needed, of course, but truly good effort. Before we end today's lesson, I would like you all of you to take a good look at Mr. Shacklebolt and Mr. Malfoy here." There was a pause when no one moved. "Well, what are you waiting for? Come around."

Scorpius groaned internally and caught Vince's eye. The seventh-year seemed to be equally dreading the crowd of students that were now pressing up around them. Mr. Potter rubbed his hands in anticipation and stepped onto the middle of the mat.

"I'd like all of you to pay attention to their technique closely," he instructed the student body, most of who were craning over each other's heads and giggling to themselves. "Each of them has a distinct style and clear set of strengths, which I have matched up with their position. As such, Mr. Shacklebolt will be on the attack and Mr. Malfoy here is on defense."

There was a snort and Scorpius looked up to see Al and Carpathia watching avidly from the front row. The redheaded boy was wearing a sizable smirk on his face, which Scorpius vowed he would repay later on. He scanned the rows of faces angled up at him and immediately spotted out the flash of Weasley's red hair…Merlin's beard, he reprimanded himself forcefully, he was _not _going to think about Weasley.

"…body movements and use of non-verbal spells. Now, without further ado, begin!"

_What_? The immediacy of Mr. Potter's green light caught Scorpius off-guard and he scrambled to put his mind back on track. _Alright, focus. Did he say Shacklebolt was on the attack or was I—_

"Stupefy!" Vince roared.

Scorpius' head snapped around so fast that his neck criked. He muttered a dissipating spell under his breath and the Stun dissolved into slivers of light. _Well, that was easy. Did he think he was going to get the better of me with a ruddy _Stunning _spell—_

Scorpius instantly felt a tremor in the air and his hairs stood up. Instinctively he flashed up his shield and, a split-second later, there was a burst of magenta so violent that it shook his very bones. There was a gasp and a loud 'ooooh' resonated from the spectators.

_Invisible! How did he make his spell invisible_? Scorpius shook his head, furious that he'd almost let his guard down. A carnage of spells battered down on his shield, deflecting off with explosions like fireworks. The collisions were so deafening that Scorpius could barely hear the incantations coming out of Vince's mouth. Students around them began to laugh.

He was getting completely reamed. And he had no idea what to do.

He took a step back and realized that his feet were nearly slipping off the edge of the mat. Vince was using the attack to slowly advance upon him, taking the majority of space to his advantage. _Space…_Scorpius glimpsed Mr. Potter's focused expression through the haze of spells. He didn't have much physical room anymore and cowering behind his shield was limiting his space even more. What was the bloody point of this, anyway? If it wasn't for the _Protego _Charm he'd be eliminated, and it's not as if he could use a shield charm as a weapon…

Or could he? What was that Mr. Potter had said?_ Each has a clear set of strengths, _thought Scorpius, _and I've always been known for my creativity…_

"_Lumos maxima_," he murmured and there was a swell of bright, white light. The crowd uttered faint cries of protest as they were blinded. Scorpius grinned. That meant Vince was blind as well.

_Irreverta Dupliante_, he said mentally, noting with satisfaction as a mirror image of his scarlet Shield appeared adjacent to his current one. "Nox!" he called. The white light instantly disappeared.

There was a collection of laughter as the crowd blinked the stars from their eyes and realized what he'd done. Scorpius watched Vince's expression morph into one of confusion as the seventh-year debated over which Shield to target.

"_Accanta Sepulis_!" Vince shouted, his mouth twitching into a smile. Two rays of light shot out of his wand, attacking both shields simultaneously. _Impressive, _thought Scorpius with admiration. _Really impressive._

But inefficient. 

Vince was tiring himself out. Casting two spells simultaneously was enormously taxing and it wasn't long before the seventh-year's battering ram ceased. He dropped his wand-arm to the side and panted, "Malfoy! Are you ready to come out or what?"

There was still one trick Scorpius still hadn't exercised yet. He had learned this neat one from his father. _Wizards do not simply cast spells, Scorpius, they can also bear them. It's much more tiring, of course, but the few seconds are worth it. _

"Proteus," he whispered, pointing the wand at his wrist and watching a river of blue light trickle into his blood stream. He felt the mirroring charm take hold and it weighed down on his body instantly like an anchor. His forehead already sweating, he lowered his previous two Shields and stepped forward.

Vince was ready. The boy grinned and uttered, "_Havatis_!" A black, spindly jet of light raced towards Scorpius and…astonishingly, _glanced _off him, deflecting back in the direction it came. Vince's eyes widened seconds before the Hurtling Hex knocked its owner off his feet. The seventh-year's body somer-saulted in the air, creating a beautiful arc above the agog heads of spectators.

Scorpius cast the Mirroring Charm off his body with a sigh of relief just as Vince landed arse-down on the opposite end of the mat, his expression stunned. There was collective gasp of air from the spectators.

_Expelliarmus_, thought Scorpius, and the wand feebly detached from Vince's hand and rolled in his direction.

_I've won. _He couldn't believe it. His hands shook and his sides were still heaving from the weight of the spell, but he'd done it. He had won.

There was a very pregnant silence. Then, someone began to clap and before long the student body had dissolved into applause.

"Well done, well done indeed!" shouted Mr. Potter above the din and Scorpius had almost forgotten the man was there. "_Finite incantatum_." The mat immediately straightened itself. "Take a bow, boys. You've earned yourself a well-earned rest."

His heart thumping, Scorpius squared his shoulders and faced Vince, who was still wearing a look of disheveled shock. When the tips of their heads touched, whistles pierced the air. He heard Vince say quietly: "That was wicked, Malfoy."

Scorpius raised his head and, to his surprise, saw that the seventh-year was smiling as he pocketed his wand. "Nah, I mean…" he began awkwardly. For the first time, he felt rather humbled. "You had some good shots there yourself. That Accantus Spell…"

"Well, I'm meant to be the best in school, aren't I?" said Vince with a matter-of-fact shrug. "My dad's been training me since I was born and I've never picked up PossessiveMagic as well as you did. Carrying the Mirror Charm like that? You'd make a damn good Auror if you tried, you know."

Scorpius blinked as he absorbed the compliment. He felt the edges of his mouth curve upwards and something in his chest bloomed and filled his throat like warm Butterbeer. "Thank you," he said quietly. Vince winked at him and then headed off to join his crowd of mates.

Scorpius glanced around him and spotted Al nearby. The Potter caught his eye and flipped him the bird with a good-natured grin.

With his own smile on his lips, Scorpius set off in Al's direction and halted in front him, drawling in typical Malfoy fashion: "All hail the conquering hero."

AAA.

The class filtered out in a rush of excitement, all chattering about what had transpired during the Defense lesson. 'Scorpius' was a name that Al caught more than once.

He noted that his father was already seated at his desk with a stack of files. The man took off his glasses and promptly began massaging the corner of his eyes, no doubt exhausted by the class more than he'd let on.

Al chose the moment to step in. "Dad."

Harry Potter looked up and met his son with a welcoming smile. "Oh. There you are. Come to explain your whereabouts this morning when you were skiving off Potions?"

Al rolled his eyes. "I _knew _Astrakhan was going to make a big bloody deal about it. The man's barmy."

"On the contrary, I think he's quite an intelligent man."

"He never lets me off!" complained Al, throwing his hands up. "I'm top of the class already. One lesson isn't going to make a difference-"

"I don't think that's the point, Al," cut in his father with a stern look. He slid his glasses back up his nose. "Professor Astrakhan says you're one of the most talented students he's ever come across. You shouldn't the insult the man by not giving him your attention. Don't you like Potions?"

"Well, _yeah_, but it's not like I was ever really going to to take it seriously-"

"Why not?"

"Because," spluttered Al, "Because I want to play Quidditch."

Harry studied him for several seconds. A smile threatened to cross the man's face. "Is Potions not, ah, '_trendy' _anymore? Is that it?"

"What?"

"I'm asking you, Al, if you're not picking Potions because you don't like it or because it's no longer '_swank_', so to speak."

"Dad, I'm begging you to speak English."

"Oh bloody hell," grumbled Harry. He took a deep breath and continued. "Let me put this way, Al. If you like something and you're good at it, there's no shame in pursuing it no matter what it is."

Al folded his arms. "I'm good at Quidditch."

"Yes, I know you are," said Harry patiently. "And should the time come that you decide with wholeheartedly to become a Quidditch player, your mother and I will support you just as we've supported James. But…" He paused. "Until then, you _will _explore all your options and _that _starts by going to all your classes. Understood?"

"Yes," said Al with a sigh.

Harry tapped his desk for several moments. "Your grandmother was exceptional at Potions too, you know."

"What, Grandmum Molly?"

"No." The man's voice softened. "Lily. My mother."

"Oh," said Al, his sarcasm deflating. His father rarely spoke of his own parents. "I never knew that."

"No you didn't," agreed Harry, his eyes twinkling. "I suppose that partially explains where your talent comes from."

It was somehow relieving for Al to hear that his affinity for Potions connected him to another member of the Potters. He had always believed that the trait was another aspect that separated him from the rest of the pack. Everyone else in the family had always shared horror stories of their time in the dungeons.

"Oi, doxyhead!" James' head poked into the chamber with his hand cupped around his mouth. "Some of the lads and I are going down to the pitch. Can you rustle up some of your Slytherins for a friendly?"

"In a minute, James," called out Harry and the boy ducked out of the room. "_He_ doesn't change, does he? Before you go Al," he added quickly as Al turned to leave. "That Malfoy boy…Scorpius, was it? Astrakhan dropped a word that he wanted to be an Auror. Is that still true?"

Al shrugged. "Dunno. I reckon so. He also wants to be the world's best-dressed tyrant if that helps."

"Wonderful," replied Harry with a smile quirking at his lips. "Make sure he sends in his application, would you? I don't want a boy with his background to be discouraged."

Al shrugged again. "Alright." He swiveled around to leave and then found himself hesitating once more. There was something that he felt his father should know. Something, he felt, his father would _care _to know. "Dad."

"What is it, Al?" Harry had already begun working on his files.

"I told Isabel I loved her today," he blurted out with a faint stab of embarrassment.

His father paused and looked back at up at him. His green eyes were filled with strange emotion. "Did you?"

"Yeah. It was…" Al swallowed. "Terrifying. But right. I mean, I reckon it was right."

"There's always a first," said Harry gently. "Congratulations."

Al nodded and promptly departed, leaving the Hero of the Wizarding World to stare after his son with an odd somberness in his heart.

AAA.

_I can't keep this secret anymore. _

Carpathia sank to the ground, her back pressed up against an oak tree. This was her favorite spot. She and Al had used to come here frequently to observe the Bowtruckle nest hanging several branches above, only now the nest was deserted and Al had a girlfriend to keep company.

A girlfriend that had been doing god-knows-what with his brother for god-knows-how-long.

She kicked a tree branch. It wasn't fair. It wasn't _bloody_ fair that good blokes like Al had to pick up the pieces after idiots like James.

Oh god how she wanted to tell him, but she wouldn't be able to bear the heartbreak on his face. How she wanted to tell _someone_, anyone.

"Buggering _shit_!" She thought for a moment that the word had slipped out of her mouth but realized that it was a male's voice. Startled, she got to her feet and realized that a blond-haired boy was standing only a few meters away. He was using one other to hack off a tree branch with a stick and the other to hold his cigarette. "_Shit, shit, shit. Fils de pute_!"

_No. It can't be. _But the boy's face angled toward her and she started.

"You!" she exclaimed, now severely ticked off. She marched over and shoved him hard in the shoulder. "Are you following me? Merlin, how desperate can you _be_?"

"I'm following _you_?" Louis repeated, strangely out of character with the cold expression that crossed his face. "Don't flatter yourself. I've been coming here for weeks now. It's the only place I can get any peace."

"You-" Carpathia shook her head. Any other person she would have been skeptical of but Louis was really full of surprises. "I didn't even think-" She glanced down at the cigarette smoking in his hand, distracted. "Are those Silvertongues?"

Louis checked the pack in his pocket for affirmation. "Right, Rose tells me you're a smoker too. Want one?"

_I'm too tired to be angry. _"Fine," she conceded, her rage subsiding. The other boy promptly lit her one and several moments of silence passed between them as they drew in breaths.

"Why were you beating up that poor tree?" she ventured.

Louis rolled his eyes. "I thought you didn't care."

"I don't. I like trees." After a beat: "What happened the other day with Gareth?"

Louis shifted slightly, his demeanor still icy. "I don't want to talk about it."

"He's my brother," she said quietly, "And I've never seen him so angry. I want to know."

Louis turned to study her for several moments and then he sighed. Some part of the Louis that Carpathia was used to seeing flooded back and a hint of his carefree smile settled on his face. "I'm surprised he hasn't told you. He's not very fond of people like me."

"People like you?" she inquired confusedly.

Louis sighed again and ashed out his cigarette. "Ah, suppose you might as well know. I'm gay."

Carpathia coughed. "_Sorry_?" She thought she hadn't heard right.

Louis looked at her meaningfully. "Don't tell anyone. My family still hasn't figured it out yet, except for _maman_, dad, and my sisters. They've known for ages."

"How-" Carpathia attempted to organize her thoughts out as quickly as possible. It made sense, she thought, the good looks, the queasiness around girls, the attention to detail…of course these were all stereotypes, but it did _make sense_. "How does my brother know?"

"Well, ah, lets just say…I made an _error_ in judgment."

Carpathia stared incredulously at him for several moments and then burst into laughter. "You thought…you thought…_Gareth_…was…" she choked out between gasps before dissolving into another fit. It didn't take long for tears to start rolling down her cheeks.

"Are you done?" asked Louis with raised eyebrows.

"Yes," panted Carpathia, her eyes sparkling. "I'm sorry. It's…just that Gareth is probably the _least _likely of people I'd suspect."

"Yes, straight as an arrow," said Louis with a glint in his eye.

Carpathia stared at the blond, oddly touched by this gesture of trust. "Is this what you've wanted to tell me this whole time?" _He hadn't even told his family._

Louis looked down at his feet, having the grace to look embarrassed. "Among other things."

"Like what?"

"Like…" he paused. "Like how you're not the only one who's had to go through shit at school. I also had someone hurt me. Quite badly, in fact. It's why I had to leave." He kicked at the leaves near their feet. "When I heard all the rumors about you this year, I had a gut instinct that I'd found somebody who understood. I've always trusted my instincts."

Carpathia was quiet, but her trained eyes on were an indication that she was listening. "Do you know how Veela blood works?" He glanced her with deep blue eyes and continued, "It's an attraction stimuli for people with the _potential_ to be attracted—which usually includes members of the opposite sex and also, on some occasions, a few members of the…uh, _same_…sex." He smiled wryly. " '_Attraction stimuli_' is a textbook answer. I'd say 'obsession' was more accurate. You should've seen the amount of attention I got at Beauxbatons after I hit puberty."

"And then I suppose some…_bloke _became involved?" said Carpathia gently. She ashed out her cigarette.

Louis lit her another one. "His name was Pierre. _Pierre Dujardin_…the most masculine, poofy-haired, polo-playing prick in our year. After rumors circulated that I favored the, uh, _male _side, he also happened to be my most active bully. That's what happens when you're from an old pureblood family, where that sort of things isn't really tolerated." Carpathia nodded. "Funny thing about Veela blood though. It tells you what you don't quite realize on your own…and it seemed that some part of Pierre favored the same side as well."

Louis exhaled and made a perfect smoke ring. "I really should have seen that hatred and obsession wasn't going to be a pretty combination but I couldn't help myself. He was cocky, bold and bloody good-looking, which was everything I liked. After I came back for my fifth year at school he cornered me and confessed that he was attracted to me. It was…_exhilarating_," the boy's voice softened to a low thrill. "To hear someone tell you that they can't stop thinking about you and that you're everything to them…so we went at it and kept at it for as long as we could. In secret, of course," he grimaced. "But nothing stays secret for long when you're at school. After five months a couple blokes caught us behind the Quidditch shed and everything went to hell."

There was several moments of silence as Louis contemplated his next few words. "It was…painful, afterwards, for me and Pierre. We stopped seeing each other but it was the taunting that got to him. His parents sent him Howler after his Howler and after about a month of it, he…snapped."

Louis's cigarette fell to the ground and he clenched his hands. His cheeks had become quite pale. "He cornered me again and this time he'd gone back to being big, bad bully. Only now his hatred was fueled by all that…_obsessive_ attraction. He started socking me, yelling about how I'd tricked him with Veela magic and how he was going to murder me for what I'd done, so then I…hit back."

Carpathia waited. Louis covered his face with his hands and she realized he was struggling to contain himself. "It was supposed to be a Stunning spell, but we were standing near a _ledge_, you see. After—after it was over, they had to send him to the _Monchant Infirmerie _in Paris and he was so badly hurt that he didn't….didn't wake up for a week…that's when the school decided I wasn't all that welcome anymore."

"Louis," intervened Carpathia with low tones, reaching out to touch the boy's shoulder but he didn't remove his hands from his face.

"I feel awful," he said, his voice cracking, "My parents know the whole story but it was the Headmistress who told them. I never told them anything, I never told _anyone _anything…until now."

Carpathia sighed and determinedly put her arms around him. His head leaned forward on the hollow between her neck and chest and she stroked his back for several moments as he heaved and gasped. His hair was incomparably soft, she thought as it brushed her cheeks. He was really just a boy.

"It's alright," she murmured, "It wasn't your fault; it was defense. And it doesn't matter if you didn't tell anyone because you've told me."

When Louis had finally calmed down, he stood back with a watery smile and said, "People really fuck up the concept of love, don't they?"

She nodded and laughed in return.

AAA.

She found Isabel right where she wanted, alone and outdoors.

The girl was waiting by the side of the pitch, her face upturned towards the flitting black silhouettes of James and Al against the setting sun.

Carpathia crept up on her so silently that when she said her name, the girl turned and let out a little squeak.

"Oh! You scared me," she said, putting a hand over her chest. "Lovely evening, isn't it?"

Carpathia didn't reply. She scrutinized the girl with folded arms, taking in the wide innocent eyes and golden ribbons in her hair, and felt something hot bubble in her veins.

"Um, anyway…" said Isabel, her voice escalating to false cheeriness when she registered the blankness of Carpathia's expression. "I was just waiting for them to finish practice."

Carpathia burst into laughter. She shook her head, trying to smother the peals of mirth slipping out of her lips and failing, until Isabel cocked an eyebrow in confusion. "I—I don't understand. Did I say something funny-"

"Waiting for 'them'?" interrupted Carpathia softly, the smile disappearing instantly. "Which one? James or Al?"

Isabel's cheeks whitened as if the life had been sucked out of them. Carpathia stepped forward, her eyes glittering, feeling the fervor in her bloodstream egging her on. "I'd hoped this wouldn't happen," said Carpathia calmly. "I actually hoped that Al was about you because, frankly, I never wanted to see him hurt. But there's one thing I hate more," she took one more step forward, her eyes narrowing. "Watching him being lied to _over _and _over _again."

Isabel's mouth closed and her jaw tightened. Carpathia stood so close to the girl that the tip of her nose was brushing the girl's forehead. "I'm going to give you one week. You tell Al what you did, whether it was with James or anyone else. Tell him that you are _not_ some blue-eyed angel you've fooled him into thinking you are. Tell him the truth and he won't have to hear it from me. Because when I tell it," her voice lowered menacingly, "There will be no defense for you to hide behind. I'll make sure he knows _exactly _that you're an undeserving _bitch _who will never know how to appreciate the love from a bloke like him."

When she turned on her heel and stalked off, she felt as if she'd been set fire from the inside out. Then, just as she thought she'd finally had a handle on things, she heard Isabel say with quiet maliciousness:

"He knows about your little crush, you know."

Carpathia stopped in her tracks.

"He knows all about it; he's just too afraid to ruin your friendship to tell you outright." Isabel chuckled humorlessly. "I bet you didn't know that, did you? I might be the undeserving bitch, but _I_ was the one he said 'I love you' to this morning. So tell me, who do you think he'll listen to when you accuse me of cheating on him?"

It took Carpathia all she had not to march back and slap the girl. Instead, she wordlessly resumed walking.

She came first. She knew it.

**AAA. **

**Once again, thanks for being so patient with me! **

**The scene with the duel was awfully fun to write. I know possessive magic has never been mentioned in the Harry Potter series but I thought it was a portion of my own creativity that I could infuse. The idea is that a wizard can 'carry' certain spells with their bodies instead of their wands, but it takes a great deal of energy and power to harness for a long time because humans aren't as good catalysts for magic as dragon heartstring, unicorn hair, or any other magical creature.**

**Sorry if strictly canon fans don't like it, but I prefer to put my twists into my fanfics. **

**Speaking of twists, yes, I'm aware that Draco Malfoy is supposed to be married to Astoria Greengrass but I decided to give him a bit of a storyline as well by ending up with kind of a bitch at first. Giving Scorpius a dysfunctional family background will serve its purpose in later plotlines, I assure you. **

**AND LOUIS IS GAY. HAHAHAHA. Come on, guys, I love having a gay character and it totally works for him. (If not, you can let me know but I can't exactly change his sexuality now). **

**Last but not least, hang in there ScoRose fans! I know there's a lot of blushing and dancing around the subject, but it'll get there I promise. I'm pushing them in the right direction so expect something climactic coming up. **

**Reviews appreciated! **

**Love, **

**~MissusWitch**


	17. Beyond The Line

**Hullo dearies. How are all your summer vacations going? I've been doing some traveling (and writing on the side when I'm faced with a long train/airplane ride) and now here's the updated chapter. **

**As always, thanks to hphilgreen and SimplyEcho for speedy responses. 3 you guys. **

**Also special thanks to **flame7926 **and EraExtrana for constructive feedback. **

**To recap: **

**Chp 3 (First Greetings):**

_**"We're the misfits," she said simply, and with a small twitch of her head, she shook the hair out of her eyes. "We've got to protect each other."**_

_**"I…" Al stared at her, at a loss of words. This unexpected gesture of frank and unconditional kindness was so sudden that he was unable to articulate his emotions. Not even a simple a thank you.**_

**Chp 8 (Occupational Hazards):**

_**Scorpius exhaled and inched one step closer to the redhead. "Look, Weasley," he said conspiratorially, "Here's something I got into the habit of doing after I realized the simple fact that basically anyone can make their own destiny if they want to. At the end of each day, I take some time to reflect and see if I have made any significant mistakes. If I have I make a motto out of it, so at least I can tell myself that I've simply added on another rule to the set of rules that I live by."**_

_**Rose cocked her head, her deep brown eyes wide with surprise. "That's quaint. Do you keep a diary as well?"**_

_**Scorpius raised a finger at her. "You know what the motto for today is?"**_

_**"What?"**_

_**Scorpius folded his arms and sat back. He declared, with a great amount of feeling: " 'Don't give a fuck what anybody else thinks.' "**_

_**" 'Don't give a fuck what anybody else thinks,'" repeated Rose, her mouth twitching as though she was fighting down a grin. "Right."**_

**Chp 14 (The Naked Child): **

_**Al's eyes trailed down to her waist, and-just barely above the hem of her trousers—he saw the smallest tattoo of them yet. It was the silhouette of a dragon, completely inked out in black and barely visible. Long and elegant, it possessed a long flowing tail that curled around her hip and disappeared.**_

_**"What does this one mean?" Al asked, his voice barely above a breath. The image was quite mesmerizing for some reason.**_

_**"It was…" she paused and fell silent. Al watched her back sink and rise with her breathing. "It was the first time I fell in love."**_

**Chp 16 (Previously):**

**Al says 'I love you' to Isabel, Scorpius gets special recognition from Harry Potter as an exceptional dueler, he and Rose come to terms with the fact that things can't go back to normal, Louis is gay and was kicked out of Beauxbatons due to a bullying incident, Carpathia confronts Isabel about her snogging James and gives her one week to tell Al the truth. **

**Chapter 17: Beyond The Line **

**AAA. **

"...to the October agenda. As most of you know, the Halloween Feast will carry on this year with several changes…we had so many students complaining about wax dripping over the food in previous years that Headmaster Longbottom has suggested floating light-bulbs as a substitute…compact fluorescent, of course, to be environmentally-friendly…"

Selma ben Malka, Hogwart's resident Head Girl, wore red lipstick. The bright neon-red sort that only coordinated well with dark skin. It was her trademark and everyone knew it, so much that if another girl wore that color you'd still refer it as 'Selma's color'.

She was also quite pretty. If you tilted your head 45 degrees and squinted your eyes, her slanted features gave her the look of a Siamese cat and the droopy tip of her nose almost seemed to disappear. To add were several significant props; she was descended from a Moroccan prince and was extremely intelligent, so intelligent that she'd been regarded as 'The Brain' of Hogwarts for the past five years. Nobody had questioned her appointment as Head Girl.

Too bad she had to be so bloody dull.

Scorpius drummed the wood table in front him. _I'm going to hang myself if this carries on any longer. _He glanced around at the other prefects, who seemed equally subdued with boredom. Even Rose, who was known to put up an admirable effort, had conceded in defeat. Her elbow was slipping off the table. Scorpius tried not to smile.

"Malfoy."

_That's my name. _The thought registered, but not before he felt Vera elbow him hard in the ribs. After shooting his partner a glare, Scorpius put on his best drawl and swiveled around to face the source of the voice.

"Yes, your Headship?"

A ripple of laughter went around the room and resident Head Boy, Desmond McCormack, turned puce.

"Your attention seems to be wandering. Why don't you share what's on your mind?"

"Me? Oh just, ah, processing everything. All this riveting information needs time to digest, you know."

Phelby Potts snorted from across the table and Desmond narrowed his eyes.

"I insist. The rest of us would be very interested to hear what you've _digested_."

Scorpius raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Desmond had a nasty habit of bullying Scorpius during prefect meetings. Scorpius leaned back casually on his chair with his hands behind his head and faced the boy squarely in the eye.

"Alrighty then. Well, Wrightman over there is sporting a really _nasty _bruise of some sort, no doubt having to do with that fantastic Quidditch game we had last week—sorry, Lexie, you better put some ointment on that-"A petite girl with a brown pixie-cut sitting in the corner promptly touched the side of her face with a look of embarassment. "Tremlett and Edgecombe have been glaring daggers at each other since this meeting started, which means that our lovely _Fiona Chang _over here hasn't been giving either of them the time of day…"

Scorpius smiled beatifically at a pretty Asian girl sitting with her fellow Hufflepuff prefects. The girl opened her mouth in indignation. "I'm all for double-timing, but there's no point stringing them _both _along if you've really decided on going for Ned Bixby-" Tremlett and Edgecombe both whipped their heads around to regard Fiona Chang with shock and the girl's cheeks reddened.

"Judging by the eye circles under our Head Girl's eyes, she probably hasn't had a good night's sleep in ages. Is that from the N.E.W.T workload or romantic strolls around the Astronomy Tower?"

Selma's lips quirked, and the blinding red hues shone back at him.

"Last but not least," Scorpius rounded back on the Head Boy, who seemed to be steaming from the ears. "I noticed quite an impressive scar on your neck there, McCormack. Either you've got a very angry cat or you and Chantal have taken a huge step in your, ah, _relationship_. How you've managed to convince her to step foot in the Hufflepuff dormitories is astounding but I suppose all the nagging must have been worth it. I would know." Scorpius flashed him a smile that was all teeth.

"_Enough_," grounded out McCormack and there were sniggers around the room.

"Diva much, Malfoy? You could've just said you weren't paying attention," remarked Selma dryly.

"Probably. But that would be missing my point," Scorpius turned to address the rest of the faces in the room. "We're in danger of becoming the most _boring _class Hogwarts has ever seen. What sort of ideas have we come up with? A Christmas book-reading? Celebratory _picnics_ after Quidditch games? Trick-o-treating with the first-years on Halloween? God, even the first-years would prefer jumping into the lake than ask Astrakhan for candy." He exhaled in frustration. "What happened to sodding women and booze?"

"The faculty does _not_ condone such activities-" began McCormack stiffly.

"Didn't stop James Potter," reminded Rowan Thomas quietly. "We had fantastic parties because of him."

"James Potter _graduated_ last year-"

"I highly doubt Potter is the only person in the world with the capability of throwing fantastic parties," said Scorpius dryly. "Look, we're all intelligent people here and we're not the faculty's bleedin' minions. I say the student body would have more respect for us if we could organize something for themunder the radar. In the meantime, we can still have the ruddy Halloween feast like we've done for the past millennia to please the professors."

"You want us to organize a covert event behind Fell's back?" questioned Selma cautiously. "What exactly did you have in mind, Malfoy?"

Scorpius grinned and produced a paper flyer from his pocket. He'd found it plastered on the walls of the Three Broomsticks on his last trip to Hogsmeade about a fortnight ago.

" '_Kneazle Krawl_'?" read out Rowan with an amused smile. "I've seen a couple of these lying around."

"Club Kneazle is the hottest place in London, from what I've heard," said Scorpius and several eyebrows in the room raised. "It's a wizarding establishment, of course, but they do let in a sizable amount of muggles before obliviating them on their way out."

"How do you propose we get students all the way to London?" inquired Lexie dubiously.

"From the Three Broomsticks," explained Scorpius impatiently. "That's why it's called a _crawl_. The Three Broomstick's got an arrangement with Club Kneazle on Halloween night to transport anyone from Hogsmeade through Portkey. I asked one of the managers and he's even allowed Hogwarts students a discount for Portkey fees," he added.

"Right and I suppose the professors are just going to be fine and dandy about students waltzing out of the castle at midnight?" quipped Lexie sarcastically.

"We'll be using the secret passageway, Lexie dearest. The three-legged witch's hump. Haven't you heard of it?"

"No."

"The passageway that leads up to the Honeydukes cellars?" interjected Phelby Potts incredulously. "You haven't heard of _that_? Everyone knows about that one by now." Lexie shrugged, unperturbed.

"We could always tell the professors the students want to engage in the local festivities," mused Siobhan Urquart, a fellow seventh-year Slytherin.

Rowan barked with laughter. "Right. Pumpkin-carving and story-telling and the lot."

The students were beginning to titter with excitement, shooting out ideas and laughing at the thought of Professor Fell's ignorance to their plotting. Scorpius sat back and watched his handiwork with satisfaction.

Desmond stood up, his face contorted with anger. "Stop!" The prefects in the room fell silent, turning to the Head Boy with quizzical expressions. "Do you have any idea what would happen if the professors found out about this? We're prefects; we're not supposed to—to _connive _and _scheme. _You do realize you'll lose points for your _own house_s?"

"Or a certain Head Boy might lose his badge," muttered Scorpius.

"Shut it, Malfoy, you have no idea how hard I've worked for this position," snapped McCormack, rounding on him. "I'm not about to lose it just because of one stupid idea-"

"Actually," interrupted Rose, her auburn-gold ponytail trembling as she rose to her feet. "I think it's brilliant." Her eyes were gleaming in anticipation and she looked (to be perfectly honest) magnificent. "Halloween's the biggest night of the year for the Wizarding world. Muggles all over England are going to be out that night regardless of the drinking limit so why shouldn't we be allowed some fun? As long as we ensure everyone gets in and out of Hogwarts safely and no one doesn't, erm, accidentally turn a muggle policeman into a lamp-post, I'd be willing to risk a few dozen house points. Do you lot reallythink Fell is going to sack _all_ of us if she finds out?" she added with a shake of her head. "And if this all goes right, we'd be leaving a legacy behind, our _own _legacy, and James Potter will have nothing to do with it."

Desmond opened his mouth to wheeze another retort but Selma cut him off.

"I have to admit; it would be fantastic to leave something behind in Hogwarts history," she mused. The finality of her decision promptly caused a swell of relief around the room; even Desmond found himself closing his mouth and resigning to the cause. "But we can't have everyone in this room involved…it would completely demolish the integrity of the prefect system."

"I propose that all the seventh-years stay out of it and the fifth and sixth year prefects-" began Scorpius.

"Fifth years?" repeated Selma, snapping back to her usual sternness. "No. At the very least, we'll be respecting the Wizarding drinking age. I don't want to be single-handedly responsible for putting Hogwarts in debt for lawsuits."

There were groans around the room. Even fifth-years like Lexie, who had initially opposed the idea, looked noticeably peeved that they were being ostracized. Selma cast the room an apologetic look. "The sixth-year prefects will be in charge of organizing the event from now on—which _means_," she shot Scorpius a glare. "That sixth-year prefects will _also _be responsible for ensuring that the classmates in their year that haven't turned seventeen will _not_ be allowed to participate. Rose," she turned to the addressed, who was calmly holding her ground. "Since Malfoy is clearly going to be calling all the shots on this one, you're going to keep him in line." Scorpius' smile twitched. "And to the rest of you," Selma lowered her voice and pursed her ruby lips. "Secrecy is of the _utmost _importance."

AAA.

The secret spread (as secrets often did) like quiet wildfire over the student population. Before the week was through, sixth and seventh years were seeking out prefects during classes and mealtimes for details on the Kneazle Krawl—where they would meet, what time the event was supposed to begin, whether they ought to bring their own alcohol and so on. Several fifth-years begged Scorpius if they could steal their way onto the guest list to no avail. Without trying, the Krawl soon became all Hogwarts would talk about and the most delicious part of it all was that no one breathed a word to the faculty. The professors were left wondering what had set their students on such a thrill.

It was Rose who came up with the idea.

"The Graveyard Grouse," she proposed to a skeptical Professor Fell. Rose's earnest face betrayed nothing under the Deputy Headmistress' razor-sharp gaze. "There are some _very _notable ghosts coming to speak at the Hogsmeade burial this year, including Saint Percival, Dysranna Ravenclaw…and the guest of honor happens to be Salazar Slytherin's general-in-command from the siege of—of—whatsisplace—oh, I can't remember his name either. The point is," she amended herself quickly as Fell's brow furrowed. "The prefects understand that allowing the students out in Hogsmeade past midnight would be well past curfew but we all believe that this would be enriching learning experience for our fellow peers, especially those who are taking Professor Binns' N.E.W.T class. We managed to have him sign off on the idea as well-"

She pulled out a slip decorated with the impeccable scrawl of Binns' signature. It was never difficult convincing Binns to do anything and Professor Fell certainly knew that, but the Graveyard Grouse _was_ a long-held tradition of the local Hogsmeade folk and there really _were _some notable dead speakers this year, whether by coincidence or stroke of luck. More importantly, the timing was perfect for the Kneazle Krawl.

Then there was the issue of dates.

"Are we _meant _to bring someone with us?" wondered Phelby Potts as the sixth-year prefects were gathered for their weekly meeting in Vipula's deserted classrooms. "Aren't clubs supposed to be a 'singles' thing anyway? You're supposed to just show up and leave, y'know, not single," he finished off lamely.

"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Potts?" said Scorpius snidely and the room laughed.

Phelby shrugged good-naturedly. "I've just been seeing people making an enormous deal over who to ask and who's already taken…and I don't see why that's necessary."

"It's Hogwarts. Anytime there's an excuse to mingle outside the castle we go over the top with it," piped up Rose as an answer. It was true; even Al had gone to the trouble of conjuring a bouquet of flowers and asking Isabel to officially accompany him. The entire spectacle had made Rose severely roll her eyes; they were going _clubbing, _not to a bloody ball.

She was suddenly keenly aware that Scorpius was gazing at her and her cheeks warmed automatically. She kept her own eyes fixated on the parchment in front of her, trying to absorb all the names of the students listed. For god's sake, why did he have to go ahead and drop the bomb that he didn't want things back to 'normal'? Things _clearly _hadn't been normal for a long time but it wasn't as though he had any inkling _why_. What on earth was his definition of 'not normal'?

Her head began to throb again and she felt the words pushing up at the lips as they had countless times before. It was becoming increasingly difficult to rein them in, especially since Scorpius had begun unveiling his muggle-loving, dueling-enabled, evil-genius side since the start of term. _I think I might like you, Malfoy. _

"Are you asking anyone, Potts?" Scorpius' attention was never one to linger; he had reverted his gaze back to their fellow Hufflepuff prefect.

"Well, I was thinking about Katie Milch but she's a bit frightening to be honest…"

"Nah, Katie's only a bitch on the pitch. Just don't mention you're a Puddlemere United fan and you stand a fighting chance, I'd say…"

"You think so? Cheers, Malfoy."

Why oh why did he have to pick nowto be significantly less of a prick? She closed her eyes and the words that were so desperately willing to leave her lips echoed in her mind.

_I like you. _

_I'm trying so hard not to like you but it's there, and it's changing everything I know about myself. _

_Don't mess me up. _

AAA.

There seemed to be no drawbacks to the plan except one.

The Slytherin Quidditch Captain was on academic probation.

"What?" cried Al in shock as Astrakhan delivered his most recent class assignment (the Alihotsy Draught, ridiculously difficult to brew, supposed to relieve hysteria) on his desk. The paper was stamped with a glaring D. "There has to be a mistake, professor. _I _got a 'D'—a '_D'_?"

"No mistakes," refuted Astrakhan crisply, passing by the boy's table without so much of a passing glance. "Though I can't say the same for your paper. Awful, sloppy work."

"But that means-" Al quickly conducted a mental calculation of his current scores. Charms had just recently slipped into the 'Poor' category; DADA and Ancient Runes were barely scraping by with their own 'Acceptables'; Arithmancy had actually dropped to an abysmal 'Dreadful'; he had been counting on Potions to lift up his school average.

"Yes, Mr. Potter, your Potions grade has plummeted from an 'Acceptable' to a 'Poor'. _Paz-drav-lya_, I congratulate you."

Al sat back, stunned. His school average had fallen below the 'Acceptable' range, meaning that he was now on probation, meaning he was no longer allowed to participate in extracurriculars until his academics improved, which ultimately meant…

"No Quidditch," he said out loud, almost in wonderment. _Bleedin' hell, the match against Gryffindor is in two weeks._ "Fuck."

Several heads turned at his proclamation, followed by a round of guffaws. Carpathia snorted beside him and reached out to pat his hand in sympathy.

Astrakhan's beady eyes glinted behind the frames of his glasses. "You can say _that_ again because I'd allow it in your situation, Potter. Now you've got two options; either you visit me after class for some _possible _extra-credit or, if you're feeling extra hysterical at the moment, you can brew the bloody potion in your spare time and drink ityourself_._"

Al nodded, swallowing. "I'll see you after class, Professor."

As he expected, Astrakhan was in no mood to joke around. Though the professor had always taken liberty to treat Potter like an apprentice rather than a student, it seemed Al had lost that privilege.

"Potter," the Soviet veteran spat out his name as though he'd chewed on something particularly distasteful. "Care to give an explanation?"

Al shrugged and tried not to reveal too much of his frustration. "You know I could have brewed that potion in my sleep."

"Ah, arrogance. The ever-present weed that grows on talent—_and _sucks it dry, might I add," said Astrakhan scornfully. He snatched back the paper that Al was holding in his hand and threw it on the table. "_That, _Mr. Potter, could have been written by one of my first-years. I've seen better English grammar coming from Polish refugees. _This_," he gestured forcefully towards the desk in front of him, "is an N.E.W.T course. At the end of your seventh year, you will be facing a practical _and _a written assessment. Does any of this compute in that sluggish, _idiot _brain of yours?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I really am," explained Al apologetically. "I finished that paper last minute because I was caught up with Quidditch—we've got a match in two weeks and there are scouts coming-"

"What a pity, considering you're now on probation," Astrakhan almost sneered. "And don't think you'll be able to escape this one; I will _personally _ensure that Professor Fell sees the terms of your activities suspension through."

Al's mouth fell open in a mixture of outrage and confusion. He had never encountered such aggression from the Potions Master before. "Sir, I-"

"Do you remember what this is, Potter?" Astrakhan cut him off rather brusquely. He pulled open his drawer and took out a familiar, bluish-grey stone.

"Er…yeah. It's a…uh, anaconda kidney stone. Said to provide immediate relief for cuts and gashes, wasn't it?"

"Glad to see your memory's not as abysmal as your writing. I expect a 1200-word essay on my desk on Friday."

"_What?_ But, sir, that's in _three days_-"

"I'm throwing you a lifeline, Potter," snapped Astrakhan, "Don't waste it. Now get out and start writing that bleeding essay so that I'm not forced to fail my most talented student."

The last line could have been a skewed compliment but Al still found himself walking out of the Potions classroom with a stunned expression on his face. _I'm failing Potions. _He never thought that the idea would bother him so much but now that it was actually happening he could feel an odd numbness taking hold of him.

Carpathia was waiting for him outside. "What happened?" she asked in concern at the sight of Al's pale complexion.

"I'm about to fail Potions, that's what," said Al rather dazedly. "_And _I've got to find a way to finish a 1200-word assignment on anaconda kidney stones by Friday."

"That's the same day Vipula's assignment on dragon-glass charms are due," mused Carpathia out loud. After a beat, her eyes widened and she rounded on Al's aghast expression with an apologetic expression. "Sorry! I didn't mean to put pressure on you…god, forget I said anything-"

"No, you're right—I completelyforgot about the ruddy dragonglass—blast it,"Al groaned, "How am I going to finish all this _shit _by Friday?"

"What have you been doing this whole time, Al?" demanded Carpathia, putting her hands on her hips.

"I don't know…" muttered Al helplessly. "There was that extra Quidditch practice that Malfoy insisted on having…then I had to ask Izzie if she wanted to go with me to the Krawl…and then _she_ asked if we could go as Merlin and Morgana so I had to find costumes for the damn thing…"

"Ah." Carpathia sounded deceptively neutral but Al knew there was an inner battle wrestling behind her tight-lipped response. "At least Isabel's happy, isn't she?"

_Don't say anything stupid. Don't say anything stupid. _Lately, Al had adopted a habit of repeating the mantra inside his head every time Isabel came up in conversation between them. The tension always thickened noticeably every-time his girlfriend was mentioned and he wasn't entirely sure whether it was due to Carpathia's animosity or his own defensiveness.

"Yeah, I reckon so. She's pretty excited about the whole thing…"

Carpathia sighed and eyed him levelly. "Well, then you better get all your assignments finished. If you stay on academic probation, you won't be able to leave the castle with the rest of us on Halloween. Your activities are suspended, remember?"

"_Shit_," repeated Al, and a stream of curse words fell vehemently from his mouth.

"Ho-ho. Cheeky. Who knew Harry taught his kids how to curse like sailors?" Charlie Weasley's voice sailed into their conversation and the two froze in their spots as the owner of the aforementioned voice treaded towards them. "Hullo, you two." Professor Weasley was an eclectic sight for sore eyes in his navy-blue robes and flaming red hair. "Fancy bumping into both of you here, and even more so with Al running his mouth off." He grinned at the pair, who had both turned on rather weak smiles in return. "So there's going to be a party on Halloween, eh?"

Carpathia's eyes met Al's urgently and the redheaded boy fumbled for words. "What, uh, gave you that idea, Charlie? I wouldn't really call the Graveyard Grouse a _party-_"

"Save it for your dad, Al. I grew up with Fred and George," responded Charlie with a roll of his eyes. "And did you really think that the faculty had no idea what was happening under our noses? Only a complete cad would buy the idea that students are actually interested in listening to dead people griping about the past. Some of us are trying to keep it all hushed up from Neville and Sandra, you know." Sandra was Professor Fell's given name.

"Oh," said Al awkwardly. "Well…er…thanks. On behalf of the sixth and seventh years, I mean."

"No problem," replied Charlie, winking as he walked past them. "Glad to see the Hogwarts I know is back."

Carpathia and Al stared after the flamboyantly dressed professor for several moments and then the two of them shared a look. The bewilderment in each of their eyes was enough to send the two of them bursting into laughter, so much that they ended up grasping at each other for support.

"Poor chap, Uncle Neville," said Al as the final snickers faded out. "This may be the last time I'll ever say this, but Malfoy's a _genius _for coming up with this."

"In all seriousness, Al," said Carpathia soberly, attempting to wipe the grin from her face. "We have to get you off academic probation."

"Well…Potions is easy enough, but I'm rubbish at Charms-"

"I'll come by your room tomorrow tonight," said Carpathia firmly, putting a reassuring hand on his arm. "I know the password; I'll let myself in. We'll finish off Vipula's assignment, then you'll have all of Thursday for Astrakhan's essay."

Al nodded slowly and grasped her hand fervently. "You are the _most _incredible—the _best _bloodyperson I've _ever _known-"

Carpathia had the grace to blush, but she withdrew her hand and forcefully shoved Al's head. "Shut up. You better stop fannying around from now on, got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," he grinned. He knew he was being difficult but when he leaned over to tousle her hair, he was content to see the smile return to her face.

AAA.

Today was the seventh day.

What was Isabel playing at? Did she honestly believe that Carpathia wasn't going to call her bluff?

_I__ was the one he said 'I love you' to this morning. Who do you think he'll listen to when you accuse me of cheating on him?"_

No matter how resolutely she tried to stop thinking about it, the pain of Al's professed feelings felt like a knife-stab to her chest. He'd said it? To _her_? To that two-faced _bint_? The thought was so infuriating she wanted to dive into her duvet and scream into the depths of her pillow in a manner she'd so often scorned of her roommates. She had thought she was above the whims of silly teenage girls.

Life liked to play wicked tricks, though. She had felt the electricity of his hand against her hair this morning. She had felt it like a pulse, breathing life to the butterflies in her stomach that she'd thought had been doomed to extinction. His ruddy hand had made her feel like a _silly teenage girl. _

There was no pillow, but the soft bed of grass seemed to be an apt substitute. Carpathia groaned and buried her face into the ground. She was immediately disgruntled by the amount of soil and tiny rocks that filled her mouth and sat up with a loud cough.

She heard Louis' laugh and turned to see him walking languidly towards her with his hands in his pockets.

"Boy trouble?" he called out. "Did Richie Montgomery finally pluck up the balls to ask you to the Krawl in the cheesiest, most excrutiating way possible?"

"You're late," she replied, promptly taking out a packet of cigarettes from her coat pocket. When he bounced into the grass beside her, she added, "Richie was going to ask?"

"Oops," Louis shrugged without a single ounce of regret. "Well, I suppose you should know. He's planning to corner you at dinner tonight; overheard it at lunch today."

"Oh _brill_," deadpanned Carpathia.

"What's the matter, _mon cherie_?" prodded Louis in a singsong voice. "Is it Al? Did my cousin strike another ardent chord in your heart?"

Louis' statement hit surprisingly close to home. Carpathia felt her inner resolve suddenly melt away and the words tumbled out softly: "Yes." She leaned her head on the boy's shoulder and realized that she did trust Louis, for some inexplicable reason. "Yes and it feels terrible."

The fact that she'd openly admitted he had been right all this time had broken another barrier. Louis cupped her chin gently with his hand and she felt him smile against her hair. "He deserves you," he said. "Not that fruity twit."

Carpathia let out a sigh against the French boy's shoulder. He really did smell delicious; like a mix of rosewater, vinegar, and—and some silky exotic spice that she couldn't quite place. The overpowering scent made her feel hazy. "Your veela thing is working up again."

"Is it? Sorry," Louis drew away from her with his dazzling grin still in place but at least the haziness had faded. "I've got an idea, Carps."

"What?"

"Well, the Krawl's coming up and seeing as you're coming up with ways to avoid going with Montgomery and _I _clearly have no options-"

"Now just a minute," cut in Carpathia with a raised hand. "Who says you don't have options? Keegan McCauwley is gay, and I'm fairly certain some of the chaps in the Gobstones Club aren't entirely straight-"

"Oh, aces. Sign me up then," interrupted Louis sardonically.

Carpathia cocked an eyebrow. "Or, if you're looking for something with a huge misunderstanding written over it, there's always Gareth-"

"Ha ha. Funny," Louis stuck out his tongue. "You're not really in a position to be choosy, Carps. How about it then?"

The nickname 'Carps' had grown on her at an alarming rate. She had two coined names now, one for two different members of the same family. Louis and his persistent, resilient charm had grown on her rapidly too—like a parasitic vine that refused to let go of an oak. The difference between Louis and a parasitic vine was that instead of suffocating her, there was ease to his presence that allowed their conversations to flow naturally.

When she was with him, she could forget about her problems. She could pretend for one second that it wasn't wrong to be falling back into the same turmoil of emotions for her best friend. She could pretend that she'd never heard Erin Stormwallis utter words that had placed such a heavy burden on her shoulders. As strange as their sudden and quirky friendship was, Louis could make everything fine and dandy with just a few short puffs of smoke and a couple laughs.

Carpathia tossed the boy a cigarette (_Incendium_, the ones Devon had liked, and only Louis knew that fact) and lit one up for herself. They were going to quit smoking one day, before one of them became severely addicted, but for now she liked the fact that there was a 'they' to begin with.

"Why not?" she said.

AAA.

"Why not?"

"_Why not_?" repeated Scorpius, two pink spots of rage appearing on his cheeks. He looked as though he was about to whack Al with his broomstick. "_Because_, you prick, you've been planning our strategy for months now. If I became Captain _now_, we'd be running plays backwards. And Milch would murder you for putting me second-in-command," he added as an afterthought.

"Pipe down, will you?" said Al through gritted teeth, glancing around the pitch. The flock of greens settling by the bleachers were shooting looks their way. _What's the matter with Cap'n and our Seeker_? "It's just a precautionary measure. I've got it handled, alright? I'll be off probation by this weekend so that I can make it to the Krawl…"

"_What_?" Scorpius seemed to be on the verge of exploding. "You'd better show up, Potter. You're supposed to be supplying the fake ID's."

Al folded his arms defensively. "Oi. Just to be clear. It's not my fault you're not seventeen."

"Yeah, well, I'm not missing my own party, am I?" said Scorpius with an air of obnoxiousness, though he was significantly mollified. "What sort of idiot loses points on a _Potions essay_? Was your mother too thick to teach you the English alphabet?"

"No, she was too busy living happy married life with Dad_,_" Al shot back scathingly.

Scorpius stared at him for several moments, blue eyes somber. "That was low."

Al's anger immediately deflated and his face crumpled. "Sorry, Malfoy. That was-"

"—completely uncalled for-"

"I know, I know. I'm a prick. You told me out of confidence and I threw it back in your face-"

"More like socked it in my face," agreed Scorpius, "Admirable though. I would've done the same."

"Probably."

"I reckon you should let me have a go at your dragontail now, since my feelings have been significantly wounded and all."

Al rolled his eyes and dramatically presented his beautiful, silver-carved-on-blackthorne broomstick to the other boy. "Fine."

Scorpius dropped his own broomstick and grasped Al's without a second's passing, looking quite jaunty and not at all wounded. "Cheers. By the way, does it seem like Montgomery's looking more off-color than usual?"

The Gryffindors and Slytherins rarely held Quidditch practice together, but today was such a rare occasion. On the other end of the pitch, the Gryffindor players were conducting single-file flying drills in the shape of an hour-glass. Richie Montgomery was not amongst the red swallows up in the air; rather, he was sitting cross-legged in the dirt picking at the grass.

Al fought back a smile. "Do you think he's on probation as well?"

"Don't be daft; it has to be a girl. They're half the reason for everything," commented Scorpius, studying the frizzy-haired boy with crafty eyes. Then, in a tone that was so smooth and casual that Al's ears pricked up: "Speaking of girls, is Weasley going with anyone?"

Al's eyes flickered towards the red players. He could spot Rose's distinctive auburn-gold hair amongst the flurry. "I reckon with Rowan, most likely. They've been mates for ages and Drew's going with Amanda so they're stuck with one another. Not that I think either of them mind."

"I see." Malfoy's voice was, again, as smooth as a calm body of water. Al fought to detect any flash of emotion but the boy's waxen, angular face betrayed nothing. Scorpius' nose furrowed slightly. "You're staring, Potter."

"Why do you want to know?" inquired Al bluntly.

"Curiosity is healthy, Potter. Weasley's my colleague in orchestrating this scheme and I want to make sure she isn't distracted."

Al's eyes narrowed. "D'you know there's so much dung spewing out of your mouth I'm surprised you haven't attracted flies yet?"

A twisted smile tugged at Scorpius' mouth and his gaze slid away from Al's. "I think we should start practice. Team's getting restless."

"_Malfoy._"

Al's tone was dangerous. Scorpius swiveled around, the strands of his blond hair casting a shadow over his eyes. "What?"

Al stepped forward, his voice lowering solemnly. "I'm going to ask you one last time to be honest with me."

There was silence, and then Scorpius replied unfeelingly: "D'you know what, Potter? I'd like some goddamn honesty myself." He turned on his heel and strode off with Al's broomstick in hand.

Al threw up his hands, frustrated over the unfathomable nature of his Quidditch seeker. "So who are _you _asking then?" he yelled across the distance that Scorpius had already placed between them.

With his back still turned, Scorpius elegantly lifted up his middle-finger in response. "None of your fucking business, Potter."

AAA.

"So has Rowan finally told you he fancies you?"

Rose blinked out of her stupor as Amanda's voice penetrated the silence. She had been sitting idly by her bed, her feet dangling absently over the edge, but now she withdrew her legs and carefully folded them beside you. "You're joking, right?"

"No," shrugged Amanda, her face admirably blank. "Do you mean to say he _doesn't _fancy you?"

"Obviously," replied Rose, severely bothered by the thought. "What in bleedin' hell makes you think otherwise? " Even Carpathia, who tended to stay out of their chatterfests, had raised her head and was now regarding the three of them with an amused expression.

"Oh, Rosie," hummed Elissa Travers, who occupied the bed next to Carpathia's. The raven-haired girl pulled open the curtains of her four-poster bed and poked her head through. "If you don't want him, I'll take him off your hands. Merlin knows it's been a _while _since anyone's asked me on a date. And Rowan's quite fit."

"It's not a _date_," Rose said irritably. She looked quickly at Amanda. "Come on, Mands. You're going out with Drew. He knows exactly what I'm on about. If you want he'll recite the entire damn history of our extremely dull, extremely _platonic _friendship."

Amanda shrugged. "Actually, Drew says Rowan hasn't shut up about the Krawl since he asked you."

"Everyone's excited about the Krawl."

"I mean," she emphasized slowly, "He hasn't shut up about going with _you_."

Elissa's mouth pursed into a very dramatic 'O'. Rose stared at the two girls with a mingled look of desperation and incredulity then turned to Carpathia for aid. "_Please _inform these two twits that it is possible for two members of the opposite sex to be mates and _stay _mates."

Carpathia leaned forward on her elbows, displaying an uncharacteristic interest in the conversation. "Dunno actually. It's a tricky statement."

"Did you two coordinate costumes together?" pressed Elissa eagerly. "I bet Rowan looks _cracking_ in decent threads."

"Er, yeah—we still have our Three Musketeers costumes from last year-"

"It's not the Three Musketeers without the third one isn't it?" pointed out Amanda, "Drew and I are going as Mark Anthony and Cleopatra."

"I—I-" Despite being rendered speechless, Rose still found herself unable to shake off the urge to laugh. She reached over and slapped Carpathia's arm gently. "Oi, bitch, you're supposed to be the reinforcement here. If Al asked you-"

"Actually, I'm going with Louis," said Carpathia with a hint of embarrassment. Elissa's mouth dropped and Rose rounded on her with a startled expression. "But yes, it's definitely platonic," she amended quickly.

"Bloomin' eck, this is so unfair," moaned Elissa, her lips pulling into a pout. "Does everyone in this room have a date except me?"

"Louis?" repeated Rose. "_Our _Louis? Louis Weasley?"

Carpathia nodded gravely. "That's the one."

"Oh. Well, that's a surprise. Wonder why he hasn't told me or Al…" the confusion in Rose's voice trailed off and she shook her head as if to rid herself of an irksome fly. "You see. There you go," she added on briskly, turning to Amanda with an air of triumph. "Just as Thia said."

Amanda tutted, unconvinced. "Heavens, Rosie. You're probably the thickest clever person I know. One day you'll jump off that cloud you're sitting on and give yourself a great big knock on the head when you hit the ground. Then, when you're rubbing out that painful sore, I'll come 'round and tell you '_that's reality, bitch_', and _then_ you'll realize that ditsy old 'Mands was right all along." Elissa giggled, and Amanda turned to Carpathia with a friendly smile. "Congrats, you. Louis is a catch!"

"Just mates," reminded Carpathia.

"Oh yeah, everybody's everyone's friend," replied Amanda with a roll of her eyes. Then, she grabbed her bookbag and trotted to the door, calling over her shoulder: "I'm off to dinner. Elissa, you coming?"

Elissa responded by following Amanda's footsteps, but not before shooting the pair of them a wink.

"You don't believe them, do you?" said Rose, turning to Carpathia. "That Rowan might…you know."

"Would it be so bad if he did?" ventured Carpathia.

"_Yes_," ground out Rose firmly, "I mean, _no_, it wouldn't be the worst because Rowan is the best of the best of blokes that I know…but it would be bad because he's…" she found herself at a loss of words again. _He was what? Kind, caring, inquisitive, funny as hell, the one who Has Always Been There? _No, there was nothing wrong with that, but she would not condone the idea that Rowan was the Rowan she knew and loved because he had ulterior motives. The idea ruinedthe simple purity of their friendship. "He's…my best male friend." _Of the year. Of all years_.

Carpathia climbed onto Rose's bed with a sigh. She settled down, cross-legged, on the corner of the duvet across from the redheaded girl. "It's not nice being in this position, is it? The best-mate scenario I mean." Rose grimaced, and Carpathia continued on quietly, "Well, let me tell you that it's much worse on the other end of the equation. Every moment you're with that person, it's a war inside your head. You're fighting for control over your heart and your mind, and even then you're not entirely sure _what_ to fight for either. Somewhere along the road that person stops becoming your mate altogether, no matter how hard you try to preserve that friendship, because the moment you have to _try _it's no longer real." Carpathia met Rose's eyes solemnly. "If Rowan does like you and it becomes clear, I'll give you one solid piece of advice: tell him there's no chance you'll ever fancy him and let him decide whether he still wants to be your friend."

Rose sighed forlornly and her body slacked in defeat. "Why do you always make it sound easy?"

"It is and you're not as complicated as you think you are," replied Carpathia frankly.

"Neither are you," Rose tossed back affectionately. "You can't tell me you're not still jealous over Al and Isabel. That's the reason why you said yes to Louis, isn't it?"

"Maybe," said Carpathia shamelessly. A mysterious smile appeared on her lips, reminding Rose that there would always be things the girl knew that she didn't.

"Just be careful," she said with a tinge of anxiety. "Louis has his heart in the right place but he can cock-up an awful lot—one minute you'll be dandy and the next on a boat halfway to Sweden with a bottle smashed over your head. And," she added gingerly, placing a hand on Carpathia's arm. "As your friend, don't put yourself back in the same place with Al again. I love him to bits, but he's…he's stuck on that Ravenclaw bint and it's not worth the trouble."

"I'll be fine," said Carpathia with a trace of sad humor. She patted the redheaded girl's hand. "You just concentrate on how to make the Krawl the best buggering party Hogwarts has seen in years." The girl swung her legs off the bed and headed towards the door.

"Right…" mumbled Rose dazedly. "Where are you going?"

"Slytherin dungeons," replied Carpathia, tossing a quick farewell glance over her shoulder. "I've got to get Al off academic probation."

"Academic—_what_?" Rose got to her feet, her voice resonating with outrage into the stairwell. "Why am I the bloody last person to hear about anything?"

AAA.

The Gryffindor Quidditch Captain was approaching the Slytherin table, something that was practically unheard of at Hogwarts.

Admidst the 'boos' and hisses that shot his way, Richie Montgomery remained relatively unruffled as he stepped into the seat across from Al, who was busy scribbling away about the properties of anaconda kidney stones in close proximity to his dinner.

"Hullo," greeted Richie, his voice deadened from gloom. "Potter, can I have a word?"

At the sound of Richie's voice, Al started and found himself dripping ink onto his mashed potatoes. "Uh, yeah, hi, Rich."

Richie was a friendly and non-discriminatory bloke; a quality rare in Gryffindor Quidditch captains, who tended to strut around the corridors like peacocks. A stark contrast to James, he tended to abide Quidditch laws and employ clean strategies. Al rather liked him. "Did we clash booking times again? I could _swear _I told Hopkirk that we were rescheduling to next Tuesday-"

"I didn't come to talk about Quidditch."

Malfoy had been right; he _did_ look severely off-color. His face, which normally housed an extremely wide, toothy grin, was now pursed into a tight knot. Even the frizzy strands of his hair seemed to droop despondently around his shoulders.

"Oh, er, righty then," said Al awkwardly, "What's the matter?"

"You're best mates with Carpathia Nott, yeah?"

Al set aside his parchment carefully. "Yeah."

Richie let out a forlorn grunt and slumped over the table. Over the boy's frazzled mane, Lucas shot Al an inquisitive look. "So, honestly, what's her deal? Does she have a certain type of bloke or what?" As Al's look morphed into one of surprise, Richie continued, "I mean, I'm a nice bloke myself. We get on quite spiffingly in class and I might not be the _cleverest _or the most assertive or anything, but I'm funny and I play some damn good Quidditch….normally, you'd think that being Captain of the Gryffindor team would help with the birdie situation…" he was babbling and he knew it. The boy shook his head as if attempting to revert himself back on track, "Anyway, I asked her to the Krawl and she said no. Then, a couple hours later, I find out that she's going with Louis. Always knew he sported a bit of a crush on her, stupid _tosser_-" he emphasized vehemently, and then corrected quickly, "Shit. Sorry, Potter. I forgot-"

"Hang on a minute. _You_ asked herto the Krawl?" the words strangled themselves out of Al's throat. "And she's—she's going with Louis?" Something warm and feverish was creeping up the back of his neck. His feelings towards his cousin seemed to drop a couple dozen centigrade.

"Oh. Yeah, thought you knew-"

"No," said Al, and the coldness in his tone seemed to be resonate from a distance. "No, I didn't." Louis should have given him a fair warning at least. What on earth was he playing at anyway? He knew perfectly well that Carpathia was _his _mate, _his_—

What, exactly? The rationale in his brain piped up. Your mate. That's right. Not your girlfriend.

"I didn't think she'd go for him either," continued Richie glumly. "I suppose it's not a terribly big surprise or anythin', what with Weasley's smarmy looks and charm. He's the same sort as Devon Lynch and _they_ were an item-"

"Devon has nothing to do with it," Al interrupted briskly, and he leveled his gaze with Richie. "Carpathia doesn't have a type. She doesn't want anything from anyone really, except kindness. That and someone to let her know that they'll always be there even if she does muck up." He instinctively reached for his parchment and quill, feeling as though if he didn't busy himself with another topic soon he'd bloody explode. _Isabel_, he thought to himself, _think about Isabel. _She'd been wearing peach-colored ribbons and a gorgeous white blouse today. '_You're the sweetest ever_'_; _he could still recall her exact words when he'd invited her to the Krawl with a bouquet of daffodils several days ago.

"Yeah, I reckon there's always next time…" Richie trailed off on a slightly more optimistic note. "Blimey, Potter, how'd you do it?"

"Do what?"

"How'd you stay her mate all this time and not have any…y'know…feelings?"

There had been a time when him and Carpathia were the misfits at school that nobody else wanted to be mates with. Blokes like Richie, who'd been popular or at least somewhere in the middle of the spectrum, had been so frightened of Carpathia that they had rarely spoken to her. With a twinge of resentment, Al reflected that things had seemed much simpler then. "Dunno, Rich. When did you have this epiphany?"

Richie's eyes brightened. "It wasn't an epiphany…more of a slow realization, y'know? The professors used to sit us together all the time during lessons 'cause of our surnames…and one day she turned 'round at me and said, '_You're not doing that right. This professor's rubbish' _and it sort of hit me that I liked her." He let out a long, dreamy sigh. "D'you know how there's people who get great marks but aren't _clever _or anythin'? She's one of those that don't need the marks…she's brilliant on her own…" His voice trailed off and then picked up again with new fervor, "And she's pretty. Cor, so pretty, but not in a conventional way, yeah? She's got these gorgeous gray eyes and this sort of, like, quiet beauty to her face…I mean, yeah, she wears an awful lot of black but I don't even think she needs all that color to begin with. And blimey," a wicked grin crossed his face, "Don't get me started on her legs-"

"Right," said Al, bolting out of his seat and feeling suddenly sick to the stomach. "Well, hang in there, Rich. I, uh, have to be off."

He heard Richie utter a faint protestation behind him but he didn't care. He strode along the length of the Banquet Hall with his heart hammering in his chest. When he swung around the corner and into the corridor, he collided forcefully into the person he just wanted to see.

"Ow," said Carpathia with a brief laugh, rubbing the spot on her forehead where Al had accidentally elbowed her. "Merlin's beard. I was just looking for you."

Al swatted some lint off his shoulder and avoided looking at her directly. "What for?" _You couldn't have spared one moment to tell me that you and my cousin are getting awfully friendly?_

Carpathia stared at him incredulously. "What _for_? We're finishing off Charms homework or have you already forgotten?"

"Oh," the memory crashed down on Al on a hot wave of embarrassment. He glanced over his shoulder to see Richie gazing at his best mate in a manner that was entirely too doting for his liking. "Right. Sorry. Lets get going then."

AAA.

_I like you. _

Somewhere in the midst of her attempting to finish off Professor Wrathe's assignment on divine command, the words had oozed out of her quill on their own accord. Rose sat up with a start and stared at them in horror. Then, with a furtive curse, she balled up the parchment and threw it in the rubbish bin next to her.

She cast a look on the clock at her table. _8:47 pm_. The library was essentially deserted, save for a few frantic seventh-years and…well, a lovely snogging couple behind the Basics to Transfiguration section. _Yep, time to leave_.

Shouldering her bag, she wasted no time treading quickly past the shadowed halls and silent, tall torches. As she approached the first set of stairs towards Gryffindor tower, she heard her name echoing behind her.

"Rose."

She turned and saw Carter walking towards her, carrying what looked like an equally hefty bag with parchment siplling out its sides. Her shoulders stiffened automatically as her mind instantly flashed back to their last encounter (a not-so-smooth break-up) but he put his hands up as though to signal a sign of truce.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," he said lightly. There was something different about him; happier, tanner, a more genuine smile perhaps. "I was on my way back to the Hufflepuff common-room when I saw you. Busy revising, eh?" His eyes darted down briefly to his own bag chuckled.

"How have you been, Carter?" Rose inquired tentatively.

Carter shrugged. "I've been…good. Brilliant actually," he admitted. "I know the two of us used to take the piss on Easy Ellie quite a lot but actually she's…great. Really great. 'Course she's just 'Ellie' now," he grinned.

She nodded. "So everything's jolly-happy-farm then."

"Yeah. Look, I…" There was a pause and his foot shifted awkwardly to the side. "I wanted to apologize. I was a complete berk, the way I treated you. Never thought I'd say this but Malfoy was right to beat me senseless. I was …stuck. I suppose. I know better now." He offered a wan smile and she responded in kind, though she felt as though it had suddenly become rather difficult to swallow. "I did a lot of growing up. I faced up to a lot of emotions and had a second glance at certain things…and I was wrong. With a lot of it."

"I see," said Rose diplomatically.

Carter rubbed his hands nervously. "So anyway, I just wanted to say that I'd, um, really like it if we could part ways on good terms, yeah? Just to set the record straight again."

_Fancy that. _Rose exhaled, her throat still tight. "That sounds perfect, Carter."

"Good." He shifted again, a little more hesitatingly, and then closed the space between them to give her a small peck on the cheek. Rose drew back hurriedly, trying not to get lost in the nostalgic effects of his pepperwood aftershave. After all, he was the first boy she'd ever loved. "I'll see you at the Krawl."

"Yeah," she heard herself say, "Bye." She watched his golden-brown cowlicks catch the light as he turned away from her and strode off. He's changed, she thought, and I've changed. It was always for the best.

"Now that's oneperson I forgot to cross off the guest-list."

She felt her heart swoop with dread and joy simultaneously. Of course he'd be there. _I like you. _The words sang through her mind instantly like a broken record.

"You broke his nose," she replied without turning around. "I think that merits an invitation."

"Really? I think it merits a violent kick to the testicles."

A snort slipped out of her before she could force it back in. "So what's your excuse for sneaking around this time, Malfoy?" She rounded on him. He was sitting at the top of the staircase, his face framed in shadow with the torchlight hovering above his white-blond hair.

"Sneak? I prefer skulk. It's got more character," he replied, casually easing forward so that his sharp features hit the light. "Did you know that this is the exact same staircase that we were stuck waiting for that one time?"

"Oh." The realization came as a surprise. "So it is. I recall you were being an angry wanker then."

"And you were bawling your eyes out."

"I was not."

She heard him chortle and his silhouette promptly rose to full height. Like an unresisting magnet, she felt herself move towards him until she was standing barely a step away. _I like you. _Shut up, she told herself.

"You were," he replied with a hint of a tease, "And it was a godawful sight."

"Always doing _wonders _for my self-esteem, I see," she retorted, though she was smiling.

"Let me rephrase," amended Scorpius, taking another step towards her so that that her nose could almost touch his chest. "Because it's always a godawful sight to see you cry, Weasley. It's like watching the Whomping Willow burst into flame."

Scorpius' eyes were a soft dim blue as they looked down on her. He was now so close that Rose could see the small ridges in his elegant roman nose. He was really beautiful in that rare refined way, she thought, and this—oh, this has to be some sort of cruel fantasy.

"Do you still remember the motto of that day?"

_I'm trying so hard not to like you but it's there, and it's changing everything I know about myself. _

"Something about not giving a fuck, was it?" she recalled lightly. "Not exactly the bible verse but at least it's hard to forget."

She waited a beat, and then another, but Scorpius didn't answer. With a sigh, she placed her bag down and sat on the step.

His long, thin frame settled down beside her. "What's your motto for today, Weasley?"

_I like you. _

"I don't make mottos."

"Really? Shame."

She could practically hear him grin and just when she was about to utter her own retort she froze, because suddenly his fingers brushed against her own.

She looked down. Their hands were barely an inch apart; one small and pink and the other pale and long, fingers spreading towards one another like a misshapen spider's web. "Malfoy-" she murmured, embarrassingly breathless.

"Don't ruin it," he said quietly.

He was looking at her, _really _looking at her with an expression that made her knees knock together, and when his hand closed over own she realized-with a burst of clarity that hit her like a clap of lightning-that there was no going back.

_I like you. _

That's when she saw it.

Tucked neatly into the dark crevasse between his neck and chin, like a gem sparkling between two rocks, was a ruby-red lipstick stain. The same red that she had seen countless of times glistening on the Head Girl's lips.

She yanked her hand out from under his, her mouth trembling. "What the _hell_?"

Scorpius' brow folded inwards at her reaction. With his other hand, he reached for the spot on his neck that her eyes were horribly fixated on. When his fingers smudged the stain, the color drained out of his face. "Shit." His lips formed silent movements, as though he couldn't quite pinpoint what to say. "It's not—what it looks like." His voice trailed off into a low frustrated mutter, as though he too realized how lame of an excuse it sounded. "Wait, just listen-"

"No."

She was tired of playing games, especially having just ended one with her ex-boyfriend. She was tired of ignoring the protests of her own body and mind everytime she felt the heat of his presence and did nothing about it. She was tired of hearing the words 'Scorpius Malfoy' and debate over whether to hate or love them.

The words cascaded out of her mouth in a waterfall of emotion, powerful and uncontrollable. "_I like you._"

It was like an out-of-body experience. She was assailed with horror and exhilaration as she registered Scorpius' eyes widening, but she couldn't quite connect the emotions to her own body. Her physical self seemed to be shaking out of control and still, the words continued flowing out.

"I don't know what you're playing at. I don't know what normal _is _for us anymore. I don't know if this whole thing has been some sort of sick head-fuck you orchestrated. I just—_don't know_, but I have to tell you before I blow myself up-"

She grabbed the railing and pulled herself to her feet. Scorpius followed, his mouth opening, but she motioned for him to sit. "Don't move. Don't fucking move." Oh sweet _Merlin_, her voice was watery. "I like you."

_I'm trying so hard not to like you but it's there, and it's—_

"—It'schanging everything I know about myself." There was so much despair inside of her she didn't know where to put it—"And I'd hoped that at the end of this I wouldn't turn out all angry and broken-up but I have."

_Please don't mess me up. _

Her fist slammed the railing so hard that her palms smarted and even Scorpius leapt slightly. "You want to know what happened the day you lost your memories? You went ahead and said some pretty words, snogged the living daylights out of me and then forgot all about it afterwards. It was an absolute _prick _move," she spat and continued on, her voice wobbling precariously. "I hate what you're doing to me. I hate this fucking seesaw you've been stringing me along on—from visiting my grandparents to picking up rando muggle bints and then dropping cheeky hints that I was _stupid _enough to fall for and _now this_." A tear slipped down her cheek and she wiped it loathsomely away. "Did you plan the Krawl justso that you could get into Selma's pants? I wouldn't be surprised. You're a tossing, prick-head, _fucker_, Malfoy, and I should have stood by what I said to you outside the watch-shop—about us never speaking to one another again. No, scratch that, we should have just done exactly what _you_ said—'_I'll be Malfoy and you'll be Weasley again_'—isn't that right? Oh wait, you don't remember," she let out a loud snort of irony and wiped more angry tears from her eyes. Then, in a moment of pure honesty, she said softly: "I hope this will mean something to you so I'll say it again. I _like _you. And I hate myself for it."

She grabbed her bag off the floor and walked away. Despite the wrath coursing through her, there was still some part of her heart that shamefully hoped he would stop her.

AAA.

It was 10 pm when Al finally worded off the last paragraph to his dragon-glass essay. Carpathia, who had spent the last thirty minutes poking around the boy's dormitory, entered the Slytherin common-room at the exact moment Al put his pen down.

"All done?" she asked, eyebrows raised high. She collapsed on Al's favorite green pouffe near the fireplace, brandishing two bottles of Wylmby's Cherry Sparkles. "Look what I found in Scorpius' trunk."

Al's lips twitched. "Funny. Never pegged him as a fruity drink sort of bloke."

"Do you think he'll miss them?"

His eyes widened as a mischievous smile spread across her cheeks. "What…_now_? It's almost midnight. And you said it yourself; I shouldn't be fannying around until I'm off probation-"

"Which is why I waited until you finished," she interrupted, stretching out her hand. "Give the paper here; I'll have a look."

Al silently handed her his finished work and watched her appraise it with careful eyes. Her lips moved silently as she drank in his words. The glow of the green fabric behind her and gleam of yellow from the lamps hanging above them cast a lovely shade of cream on her pale features. Several loopy strands of raven hair fell into her eyes and her dark lashes fluttered in discomfort.

_She's got this, like, this quiet beauty to her face…_but that was Richie, not him. Richie didn't have the most fantastic girlfriend on the planet…and Richie certainly wasn't in love with someone else.

"Al," she said suddenly and his cheeks flushed with color as though he'd been caught wanking off. "This is actually really good work."

"Oh, er, thanks. You're a good teacher," he said, his voice pitched a little higher than normal.

"I had to edit a couple grammatical errors, and I'm not entirely sure if Valeria the Wretched invented dragon talon molding in 1216; you'd better check with Rose. Otherwise," she gave him a warm smile. "All sorted. Shall we celebrate?" She tossed him one of the bottles.

Al caught it neatly. "For what?"

"That your Quidditch activities have been reinstated," she replied, uncorking her own bottle. A sweet sigh of relief echoed from the bottle-hole and she sniffed the rim with a look of surprise. "Oh, this one's been capped for years now. You can smell it. Come on, live a little."

_Live a little, _she'd always told him since they were first-years, _and don't look back. _Al uncorked his own bottle with an inward pop of satisfaction. He knew Malfoy would be pissed as hell that his stash had been broken into, but Al didn't care. _Here's to all the times you nicked my Map, prick. _

He'd always secretly preferred Cherry Sparkles over Firewhiskey—anything was better than Firewhiskey, to be honest. The sweet scarlet liquid sparked and sizzled on tongue and lips before he swallowed and he immediately felt the rush of heat in his throat. He looked at Carpathia, who was staring back at him with a gleam of delighted wonder in her eyes. "This stuff's really great, isn't it?"

She'd knocked his inhibitions down again. Conceding to defeat, he set aside his papers and met Carpathia's expression with a grin. Her smile dropped. "Al—no, this is _my _seat—"

"Woo!" he shouted in glee, jumping full-speed onto the tiny, green pouffe. Her legs circled out of the way just in time as his bottom hit the cushion, and the furniture piece rocked under the added weight. Carpathia cursed, trying to shift out of the way as Al's limbs knocked into her face and neck.

"You _twat—_I was here first-"

"This is my favorite chair and you know it-" Al began laughing as Carpathia whacked his head profusely with a grey-silk pillow. When it was clear that her attempts were fruitless, she groaned and pulled her knees up to try and fit herself into the small space. "Here," smiled Al, pushing her head gently against his shoulder to support her neck. "What do you want to drink to?"

"Mmpf," her voice was muffled against the fabric of the chair. Her body shifted as she readjusted her position. When her face reappeared near his shoulder and her eyes flickered up to meet his, he felt an odd shiver run through him. "To best mates."

"To best mates," repeated Al softly. The two of them clinked bottles and there was a silence as they downed a sizable swig.

Carpathia squeezed her eyes shut when she withdrew the bottle from her lips. "Oof that's strong."

Al coughed as a trail of sparks emitted from his ears and she laughed. "There's no way in hell we're finishing that," said Al with grimace, "I have no intention of getting myself trashed tonight."

"No, absolutely," agreed Carpathia.

An hour and two empty bottles later both of them were collapsed on the serpent-patterned rug of the common-room, giggling furiously and severely inebriated.

"Oh _f-fuck _my giddy aunt. I've d-done something terrible."

"And what's that, luv?"

Her voice dropped to a low whisper. "I do believe that I got the two of us unbelievably sh-smashed."

Al leaned his face in close to hers, his cheek rubbing against the carpet. "D-does that mean we're skiving off Charmstomorrow?"

Carpathia burst into such violent laughter that her complexion turned puce instantly. At this point (though Al wasn't entirely sure if he could trust his own account on this), he heard the door to the girl's dormitory slam open and Chantal's dulcet tones shouting over them.

"(Series of French words, nasty no doubt), d_o you have any idea what time it is? Some of us need to sleep, for goodness's sake. If you two are going to snog, could you take your ridiculous (_insert French word_) somewhere private like the rest of us?_" Then a male voice (_Desmond, _remembered Al faintly) interjecting rather embarrassedly: _"Chantal… lets just, ah, leave them to it-"_

Then, amidst the haze, Carpathia's eyes (_gorgeous gray eyes) _reentered his specter of vision and were fixed on him very seriously indeed. She was saying: "I reckon Miss Ch-Chantal Gerhardt dunnit like us very much." Then, she added with an air of increased sobriety, "I—I should be h-heading back-"

"No," he heard himself respond and his hand instinctively gripped her arm because for whatever reason, her leaving at that very moment seemed like an awful, awful idea. "Dun be _th-thick_. Hogwarts is no place for someone wast-who's sch-waysted," she chortled at his mis-pronounciation, "And ye can barely walk. Nah, you're sch-schtaying with me tonight."

Then they were stumbling towards his dorm-room, each whispering (in very loud, failed attempts at being quiet) to one another that they had to hush up, because they had both realized there was one very crucial obstacle to this plan: Gareth. Thank goodness that Gareth was an extremely sound sleeper because they entered Al's dormitory with no small amount of conspicuousness, prompting Scorpius and even Lucas to wake and groan at them to shut up. To their credit, no one gave an indication that it was _Carpathia _that Al had brought to the room that night, least of all Gareth, which put a rest to their (somewhat dim) worries.

When they crawled into Al's sheets, Al drew the four-poster curtains shut and clumsily cast a sound-proofing charm. Carpathia followed with a faint 'lumos', so that their faces were illuminated in the darkness.

"Al." He felt himself sink into the warm cover of drowsiness under the tent of their covers. "Al. Al. Allie. Albus."

"Mmf?"

"It's aw-awfully _hot_ in here. D'you mind if I take my top off?"

"No," he said dolefully. He heard the rustle of fabric and suddenly registered the satin feel of her soft skin against his and the blood rushed to his brain in a burst of sobriety. "Thia-"

But she was clearly in no state to put her inhibitions back up. Carpathia settled in a fetus position across from him with her eyes closed and her mouth hanging slightly open, and Al couldn't help but look; look at the yellow glow that the wand-light gave to her unblemished skin, the dark fringe of her lashes on her cheek, the contrast of her black lace against the curve of her breast…

_Isabel. _He told himself firmly, drilling the name into the confines of his mind. _Isabel, Isabel. I love Isabel. _

"Thia," he whispered, his voice ringing in his ears and clearing his mind up momentarily. "Why are you going with Louis to the Krawl?"

He'd never imagined he would feel any form of dislike towards his cousin, who he'd always held in the highest regard since early childhood. Louis was a quirkier, more likeable version of James and had no trouble flocking girls to him like bees to honey…that's how it had always been and the best part was that Louis didn't flaunt it…

"Gah." She rolled to her side and scooted herself closer to him so that his lips were barely inches away from the back of her neck. He heard her yawn softly. "Juh-just mates. Louis is lovely…annoying, but lovely…"

Did he really think that he would be the only person in his family to be somewhat attracted to her (_because, _he had to admit it, _that he _was _attracted to her—whether it was her eclectic personality or her funny habits or her face, which was quite a pretty face now that he opened his bloody eyes)_. And after Devon, what _better _than to have Thia end up with someone in the family…

"Thia," he said again, his words still rather slurred. "Y'know when I thought you were guh-going to jump off the train last year…I dunno if I-I've ever been so scared in my life. Never th-thought, _really _thought, that I'd lose you….and if that happened," he stared at the smooth surface of her neck. "What would I do? You were always there, since the sodding beginning of it all…ye always were the one to tell me how to get what I wanted…how to stop being such a—a bloody coward. You're…" he was at a loss of words now, and the alcohol began to take toll on him. He closed his eyes and dizziness overcame him.

He heard her body heave and sigh and her fingers grasped his. She pulled his arm around her torso and replied in drowsy tones. "I'll kill Isabel if she hurts you, Al, I swear I'll do something…"

He rolled his eyes and everything at that moment felt right; the pounding in his head, the warm body tucked next to him and the soft swaying of alcohol in his bloodstream…

He heard her murmur, "I really bloody love you, Al." Then the black settled in and he nodded off of to sleep.

AAA.

She woke up that morning in his arms.

The first sensation was a clammy sort of giddiness, as though she couldn't quite believe it, and then her stomach dropped. Whether it was from alcohol consumption or the hazy memories from last night, she stared at the beam of light piercing through his curtains with a dawning sense of horror. _What did the hell did I do? _

She thought of Isabel. _I'm not a hypocrite_.

A breath of air tickled the back of her neck. She turned her head sideways and Al's face loomed alarmingly close to hers, so close that she could count every lovely freckle on his ski-slope nose and the number of auburn lashes on his eyes. _Al_…she thought in despair…_I haven't ruined anything, have I?_ It felt so good to be the one tucked against him, so good in fact that it was sickening.

"Al," she said softly, her fingers curling around his hand resting on her abdomen. The moment suddenly seemed so fragile and she wished she could clutch it to her chest and never let go. She rolled on her side again, gazing at the light streaming into their pocket of darkness and allowed the seconds to tick by.

She didn't know how long time had passed by when Al shifted and his arm momentarily tightened around her. His mouth opened and he let out a silent aching yawn. " 'morning."

"Morning," she replied, her back still to him.

"Misfits." She heard him read out, in quiet wonder, and knew what he was looking at. She had memorized the sight after spending painstaking hours drafting and scrapping the design. Afterwards she had given it to Silky and allowed the woman with her expertise to turn her art on paper into art on skin. The newest addition to her collection of tattoos.

The effect had turned out better than she expected. Between her shoulder-blades lay the dark silhouette of two hands clasped together and the word 'misfits' in tiny script etched above them. A memory, as it was, that had shaped her life; _'We're the misfits; we've got to protect each other.'_ She could recall the moment of helping that confused, frightened boy out of the snow like it was yesterday.

"This is the tattoo I didn't get to see?" said Al, and she felt his fingers trace the outline on her skin. "I didn't think it would be…about…" He swallowed andshe knew the unspoken ending of his sentence. _Me. _

She turned to face him and saw his brow furrowed as though he had suddenly encountered a troubling thought. "Now you know," she said.

Al sucked in a breath and his eyes traveled down to the dragon on her hip. She knew—by the sudden light that flickered past his features—that he had figured it out. "The dragon," he said, sitting up with a start and closing his eyes. "Third-year. Valentine's day-" He drew his hand back as though he'd been stung and Carpathia e sat up quickly, mirroring his position. _I was the first person you fell in love with_. Isabel had been right after all when she'd said he'd pieced it together, but Carpathia knew that mental contemplations was not the same as an actual confrontation and Al…Al's face was stricken with guilt.

"This was a mistake," he muttered, putting a hand through his rumpled red hair and evading Carpathia's gaze. She was keenly aware that she was half-naked. "I shouldn't have—we shouldn't have-"

"Al, it was a long time ago, I promise," she swooped in hurriedly, grasping his hand but he withdrew it from her. "Last night, I wasn't trying to-"

"You weren't?" Al half-snorted, and for the first time, she heard a note of disbelief seep into his voice. "Seems like you were trying something when you took your top off."

His sneer hurt. "Flattering yourself much?" she replied with darkened tones. "It takes two to get here and _you _were the one who invited me up to your room."

"_You_ got us plastered," Al shot back.

"You had every opportunity to refuse a drink!"

"Oh _Christ_. Why the hell did you offer to come over last night in the first place?" shouted Al.

"To _help _you!" she threw back with a filthy glare. "To helpyou with your ruddy assignment because I'm your _mate_. I've always been your mate and I would have never compromised that-"

"There's a line," said Al hollowly, and she closed her mouth when she saw the regret in his eyes. He could never want what I want, she realized with a painful twinge of her heart. "There's a line and you have to know where it begins because once you cross it, everything changes."

"I know," she said, shutting her eyes. "I'm sorry." _I have to tell him before I lose all my credibility. _"Just—forget everything, please—and listen to what I have to say. Isabel, she's not what she seems-"

"Don't bring Isabel into this," snapped Al, anger flaring up in his eyes. "I love her. She hasn't done anything wrong and I feel shit enough as it is."

Carpathia's hand fell limply to her side. "She can't be trusted," she stated quietly.

Al stared at her and his mouth twisted bitterly. "Right now, I don't even know whether I can trust you."

The silence was so thick between them that Carpathia could swear her elevated heart-rate was loud enough for Al to hear. Then, in a burst of ironic comic relief, the emerald four-poster curtains around Al's bed were drawn open with a clatter and Scorpius' vexed expression filled the gap.

"For fuck's sake, Potter, if you're going to bring your girlfriend back here you could do your roommates a spare one and _not _nick all the booze and make a big buggering noise about it on your way in—Morgana's tits, I've got to get some bloody sleep before class and I can't do it with you two bickering like a pair of old ladies—_Oh_," his eyes enlarged in shock as he registered Carpathia's bare chest. She instinctively covered herself with a pillow. "Shit. This is a, uh, surprise."

The blond boy shot a wry smile towards a stony-faced Al. "Count your lucky stars that Gareth woke up early today."

"I've got to go," forced out Al abruptly, and he threw his legs off the bed and reached for the closest shirt hanging on his nightstand.

"Al-" began Carpathia quite desperately. "Can we just-"

"No, not now," he said vehemently, and Scorpius' eyebrows raised at the boy's icy demeanor. Al slipped on his trousers and marched over to Scorpius' bed, where he pulled out an odd, wrinkled piece of parchment from underneath his pillow.

"Ah, Potter, I was just going to use that-"

"It's _my_ bloody map," Al barked.

Scorpius closed his mouth, clearly taken aback. "Where are you going?"

"To get myself sorted," he replied quite viciously, striding for the door with bookbag and papers in hand. "Then you'll have your sodding fake ID's, Malfoy."

The door slammed behind him, and Scorpius rounded on Carpathia with a gobsmacked look. "Did you two have a bad shag or what?"

Carpathia returned back to Gryffindor Tower with what felt like an empty pit inside her. She had known, of course, from the moment that they'd woken up together she had made a colossal mistake. And yet she had hoped it wasn't the case.

When she entered the girl's dormitory, the first thing she saw was Rose Weasley's hair sprawled over Carpathia's own cushion, her face buried into the sheets. Carpathia froze in the doorway, and a second later, Rose's head raised up and she saw that the other girl's face was drawn and pale.

"Thia," she greeted hoarsely, sitting up quickly and wiping her eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd be back until later-"

Carpathia knew the ashen look on Rose's face all too well; the toll of unrequited love. "It's fine," she answered faintly, flopping down next to her. Her head still spun slightly from the hangover, but she reached out and took Rose's hand in her own. "Everything's fine."

AAA.

He was a shitty person.

Though he had never considered himself to perform supremely well in much of anything and had been called bare short of 'useless' on more than one occasion, Al never thought his morale conscience would be in jeopardy.

Yet here he was, having just had a go with his best mate and very nearly entertaining second thoughts about the one girl he had proclaimed to be 'head over heels' with. And he was still sulking over himself.

It wasn't all Carpathia's fault, as he had so eloquently made it out to be. No. To be perfectly truthful, Carpathia may have crossed a line but it was him who pushed it closer to her. He should have known better than anyone that beyond the line was a whole pathway paved to heartbreak. And perhaps he _would _be able to stand the journey there (and he was certain that Carpathia already had), but he _refused_ to put Isabel in any position that she might experience anything less than devotion from him.

_I've got to be a better person, _thought Al miserably as he stood outside Astrakhan's office, wondering what his next course of action ought to be. He had slept with Carpathia all night; he had smelled her hair, breathed in her skin, looked at her breasts for crying out loud. _She doesn't deserve this. I don't deserve her. _

And where did that leave Carpathia?

_I can't lose her either. _

Grounding his teeth, Al pushed the door open to Astrakhan's office and strode up to the professor's desk. It was early to be sure, and Astrakhan certainly did not expect Al to be so punctual.

"Your report," said Al in grey tones, dropping his paper in front of Astrakhan's whirring record player. The professor swerved on his wheelie chair and appraised Al with admirable indifference.

"It's not _my _report," he corrected, stirring a smoking cup of what looked like dark green mush. He reached for his glasses and placed them on his nose, then sniffed at his concoction and downed it in one go. "But thank you, Mr. Potter, for doing yourself and my sanity a favor. I can breathe easy knowing that I no longer face the prospect of teaching a class full of imbeciles. You were their one saving grace."

Perhaps it _was _too early, but Astrakhan offered him a crinkled smile that gave no indication that the elder man was harboring any other meaning. And that's when Al paused and said:

"Sir? If you don't mind me asking, but did you ever have…a…y'know, girl?"

For a moment, Astrakhan simply zeroed in on him with austere eyes and stirred his cup. Al thought perhaps he would be flayed alive, but the professor set his potion down and responded in even tones: "I was married. Once. It ended…brokenly." He grasped a red pen on his desk and twirled it among his trembling fingers. "Women are tricky creatures, Potter. They possess an unfathomable amount of layers, far more than us I can assure you. My one piece of advice to you is that _time _is the only determinable factor that allows you to pick out the ones who are worthy of your trust. You, my dear boy, have had far too little time to pick out much of anything."

Al said nothing and simply absorbed the words in with new clarity. Astrakhan exhaled and handed Al back his paper. "I can tell you've done your work just by your bleedin' eye-circles. Now be a good fellow and put your essay with the others in the cupboard. And while you're at it grab some Pepper-up for that hangover; your breath smells like an ox's _poopenshaften_."

Al felt his mouth lift up at the professor's bludgeoning choice of words and promptly obliged. Astrakhan's infamous storage cupboard, which was an Aladdin's cave for every Potion imaginable, glittered with the kaleidoscopic colors of the vials the Potions Master had used over the years. It was an intricate organizing system—from the alphabetical order of the Potion name to the body system the Potion's function corresponded to. Al had mastered the system in his fifth year when Astrakhan had decided the boy was worthy of entering his lair.

Pausing in front of the section marked 'Neuro', Al reached for the vial, which was marked unmistakably with Astrakhan's flawless penmanship as 'P-Up', when something caught his eye several rows down and he froze. A vial. A very familiar vial.

He leaned forward and stared blankly at it, trying to work through the confusion that was spiraling through his mind. _No, that's not right. _But of course he remembered the exact shape and size of the vial; he had spent seven hours brewing the Potion that it held. There was no chance he was imagining it.

'_Mem-Restor. Potion - A. Potter'_ the label read, scrawled in his own spiky handwriting that was such a stark contrast to Astrakhan's calligraphy. The vial was corked and sealed shut with wax as though it had never been open.

As though it had never been drunk.

**AAA. **

**DUNNN DUNN DUNNN **

**Hope you all aren't tired of cliffies yet. I had to take some time with this chapter because there were some scenes that frustrated me to no end, particularly the ones that held the, ah, major confrontations. The dialogue had to be constantly written and rewritten because I was quite iffy about it, but as you can see, now I'm rather satisfied. **

**Anyway, I love the chemistry between my star couples now. I do realize that Al did become quite a conflicted arsehole in this one, considering he did just confess his undying love for Isabel in the previous chapter, but the poor boy is going through a lot. I can sympathize. **

**For those of you who are wondering when Louis is going to make an actual impact to the story, he will. Soon. **

**And I know someone will ask me why Scorpius doesn't seem to have a reaction to Rose's outburst of feelings but keep in mind that I'm writing from certain POVs of characters in some scenes and that (normal) individuals don't really have an idea of what's going on in the head of other characters. **

**Again, reviews are my bread and butter. I really want my stats to go up (I realize I might need to be a faster with updates) so if you've been enjoying the story so far and you think it's worth recommending to others, do pass it along. **

**Next up: **

**Kneazle Krawling time. **

**Love, **

**~MissusWitch **


	18. Krawl

**I realize that my last update was in 2013, and we have just crossed the threshold into 2015. Here it is; my monstrosity of a chapter. I have to admit, it was an enormous bottleneck towards progressing the story, and the job-hunting doesn't exactly help with efficiency. **

**Thank you all for those who have been patiently waiting. I wanted to convey this part as precisely as possible to what I had envisioned in my mind, since it does contain a huge transition in character development. **

**Special shout-out for those who reviewed, and those who stayed adamant followers. You are the motivation for these 50 word-doc pages, truly. **

_**Previously on TTB: **_

_**{Chapter 16}**_

"_**He knows all about your little crush. He's just too afraid to ruin your friendship to tell you outright." Isabel chuckled humorlessly. "Tell me, who do you think he'll listen to when you accuse me of cheating on him?" **_

_**It took Carpathia all she had not to march back and slap the girl. **_

_**She came first. She knew it. **_

_**{Chapter 17} **_

" '_**Kneazle Krawl'?" read out Rowan with an amused smile. "I've seen a couple of these lying around." **_

"_**Club Kneazle is the hottest place in London, from what I've heard," said Scorpius. "The Three Broomstick has an arrangement with Club Kneazle on Halloween night to transport anyone from Hogsmeade through Portkey." **_

_**AAA. **_

_**Carpathia met Rose's eyes solemnly. "If Rowan does like you and it becomes clear, I'll give you one solid piece of advice: tell him there's no chance you'll ever fancy him and let him decide whether he still wants to be you friend." **_

_**AAA. **_

_**Rose's fist slammed the railing so hard that her palms smarted and even Scorpius leapt slightly. "You want to know what happened the day you lost your memories? You went ahead and said some pretty words, snogged the living daylights out of me, and then forgot all about it afterwards. It was an absolute prick move." She spat and continued on, "I hate what you're doing to me. I hate this seesaw you've been stringing me along on—from visiting my grandparents and then dropping cheeky hints that I was stupid enough to fall for and now this." **_

_**A tear slipped down her cheek and she wiped it loathsomely away. "Did you plan the Krawl just so that you could get into Selma's pants? I wouldn't be surprised. You're a tossing, prick-head fucker, Malfoy, and I should have stood by what I said to you outside the watch-shop, about us never speaking ot one another again. No, scratch that, we should have just done exactly you said—'I'll be a Malfoy and you'll be a Weasley again'—isn't that right? Oh wait, you don't remember," she let out a loud snort of irony and wiped more angry tears from her eyes. "I hope this will mean something to you so I'll say it again. I like you. And I hate myself for it." **_

_**AAA. **_

"_**There's a line," said Al hollowly, "There's a line and you have know where it begins because once you cross it, everything changes." **_

"_**I know," Carpathia said, shutting her eyes, "I'm sorry." **_**I have to tell him before I lose all my credibility.**_** "Just—forget everything, please. Isabel, she's not what she seems-"**_

"_**Don't bring Isabel into this," snapped Al. **_

"_**She can't be trusted."**_

"_**Right now, I don't even know whether I can trust you." **_

_**AAA. **_

_**Pausing in front of a section marked 'Neuro', next to Astrakhan's flawless penmanship, something caught Al's eyes several rows down. No that's not right. But of course he remembered the exact shape and size of the vial; he had spent hours brewing the Potion that it held. **_

"_**Mem-Restor. Potion – A. Potter", the label read, scrawled in his own spiky handwriting. The vial was corked and sealed shut with wax as though it had never been open. **_

_**As though it had never been drunk. **_

**AAA. **

**Chapter 18 – Krawl **

AAA.

**Midnight: **

"…_and stay out_!"

The wizard in purple robes belted out his last warnings before the doors clanged shut behind him, emitting a faint hiss of smoke.

They stood outside the club, facing the neon sign that read 'Kneazle' while the etching of the animal in question slinked back and forth almost tauntingly at them. The music continued to hum and pulse inside.

None of the boys dared to look at one another. Al's knuckles were bleeding. So was Louis' nose. Gareth sported a scratch from the top of his temple all the way down to his chin.

"So," said Scorpius after minutes of silence, "Care to explain what the hell happened?"

**AAA.**

**8:57 PM **

**Albus**

Scorpius was late.

Al blew out a sigh of frustration. Broom closets were never his first choice when it came to meeting points, but Hogwarts seemed to have an unexplainable fascination with using them for intimate gatherings. Admittedly, Al had succumbed to the notorious snogging trend a few times with Isabel, but now, in the presence of four other sixth-year boys, he suddenly recalled that there was nothing _sexy _about broom closets at all.

He checked his watch again and then folded his arms. "When do you reckon that tosser's going to show up?"

There were shrugs all around. Jorah Simmons, a Hufflepuff in Al's arithmancy class, sneezed in response.

Al decisively folded his arms. "That's it, then. Malfoy's getting into the club on his _own-_"

With cosmic timing, the door to the broom closet slid open and light streamed in. Scorpius' face filled the void. "Hullo. Looking awfully chummy in here, chaps. Enjoying yourselves?"

"Took you long enough," griped Lucas, straightening and brushing the dust off his cloak.

"What's this I hear about someone leaving me stranded from my own party?" said Scorpius, stepping into the small space and inadvertently shoving Jorah Simmons towards the back shelf. "Is this how you thank the organizer, Potter?"

Al merely eyed Scorpius scornfully and then turned away to face the rest. "Right. Lets get to it."

Reaching into his pocket, Al pulled out four silver-colored disks, each embedded with a name, a moving photograph, and a series of floating numbers.

"Memorize your ID tags," instructed Al, distributing them to their rightful owners. "The bouncers will expect you to know them."

"Cheers, Al," said Lucas in awe as he held his disk up towards the dim light. "These look real."

"They are real," replied Al a little guiltily. He knew he'd have some explaining to do when his father found out _someone_ had called in a favor with the Auror department under Harry Potter's name.

"We better start filing out before someone catches us in here and things start looking _really _suspicious," said Scorpius briskly, pocketing his own disc without so much of a thank you. The other boys nodded and shuffled out.

Scorpius turned back towards Al, his eyes narrowing as they flickered up and down the length of Al's bright purple cloak. "Fuck's sake, Potter, do you always have to dress like you haven't got an ounce of creativity?"

"What?" said Al defensively. He knew the robes were gaudy and the hat was hideous, but there was something somewhat fulfilling about the self-magicked auburn beard—

Oh, who was he kidding? His costume was tacky, but he wasn't about to let Malfoy have the upper hand. "Merlin's brilliant. He's the greatest wizard that ever lived."

Scorpius' mouth. "And there's going to be at least ten other Merlins using _that_ sorry line tonight."

Al tugged despondently on his cloak. "It wasn't my idea. Isabel wanted to go as Morgana."

"Mm. Tell me, Potter, does she keep your testicles in her purse or on her nightstand?" replied Scorpius, unfazed.

"Purse," said Al without missing a beat. "This, coming from the bloke dressed like a pretentious ponce?"

"Who are you calling pretentious?"

As well put-together as always, Scorpius wore crisp white trousers, high leather boots, and a dark green tunic. An emerald cloak swept down dramatically from his shoulders and a silver sword lay sheathed at his hip. "Who are you calling pretentious?"

Al couldn't help himself and burst into a fit of laughter. He had caught the silver snake embroidered on the top right corner of Scorpius' tunic. "You're….you're _Salazar Slytherin, _aren't you?"

"Yeah, so?" said Scorpius in annoyance.

"Typical," said Al, erupting into another round of laughter. "It's just… so damn fitting."

Scorpius, who seemed to have envisioned an entirely different response, was now looking rather peeved at Al's lack of praise. "I don't see the problem. Salazar was extremely stylish."

" _Stylish_-" Al choked. "I thought wizards didn't own swords anyway."

"Why wouldn't they?"

"Uh, _magic_."

"Of course they had swords," snapped Scorpius, smoothing out his blond hair as though that helped soothe his aggravation. "Those were mad times back then."

"Right."

"Mm, would you look at the time. Why are we standing around chatting? We've got a rave to get to."

Smiling now that Scorpius had been successfully taken down a peg, Al opened his mouth to make another teasing remark. Then, as swift as though he'd been struck by lightning, he remembered that he was supposed to be furious.

Because Scorpius had lied.

The silence prompted Scorpius to turn around. "What?"

Al opened his mouth and closed it, his lips pressing together into a thin line.

Scorpius rolled his eyes. "_Fine,_ have it your way then. Wizards didn't have swords. We can take it up with Binns on Monday."

"Malfoy," said Al slowly, taking several steps forward. He wondered how exactly he was meant to express himself and thought vaguely of an Auror interrogation scene he'd witnessed once on the television.

_Just be direct. You're not the one who likes to play games. _He took a deep breath and the words rushed out of their own accord. "You remember everything just fine, don't you? You never even needed a bloody antidote."

For several moments the statement hung in the air, suspended by its arbitrary entry into the conversation. Scorpius' face held only confusion, but the realization of Al's words brought upon a remarkable transformation. His skin paled, his mouth parted, and a spasm of uncharacteristic panic crossed his features.

And then, with masterful grace, the boy's expression was wiped clean.

"Back to this again, are we?" His tone was pleasant.

"I saw my potion sitting in Astrakhan's store-room," said Al levelly. "You never even touched it."

"I don't know what you're talking about," replied Scorpius, turning back towards the door.

His ambivalence triggered a spasm of irritation.

"Right okay, well I do," said Al rather tonelessly. "Astrakhan said your memories would come back on their own, so that's what happened, isn't it?"

Silence.

Al shook his head in disbelief. _Was he really going to keep on denying it?_ "Bra_vo_, Malfoy. That's what you want to hear, isn't it? You made me sit in the dungeons for six hours brewing a potion that turned out to be useless, you got sympathy votes from the whole damn school, and god knows what you said to Rose but it certainly was effective, because she hasn't been the same since."

Scorpius folded his arms. "Seems like you've got it all clued out, Potter."

_You bloody prat. I thought we could trust each other._ "Why couldn't you just tell me?"

"You were so keen on playing detective," he said sardonically. "I couldn't deprive you the privilege."

"I asked you to be honest," ground out Al, and the disappointment that he'd kept pent-up inside him trickled out, little by little. "I don't know what you're playing at, but it's not the Malfoy I thought I knew."

"Hooray. The Malfoys are liars and cheats again," said Scorpius with a tone that evoked faux-lightness.

Al had enough. His fist pounded against the ball, causing the shelves to rattle behind them. "Will you stopdoing that? _Stop _evading every question by running a mile around it. I have every right to know-"

"No, Potter. You really don't," cut in Scorpius, his eyes sparking in anger. "Let it go. You're right. I was a twat and now things have changed."

"What are you talking about?"

The broom closet door burst open and Headmaster Longbottom stood in the gap, emitting a small 'oof' of surprise. He was holding a pipe in one hand and his wand in the other, looking just as startled to see them as the two of them were to see him.

"Oh hello Albus," greeted Professor Longbottom, his eyes darting over the two of them curiously. "And…ah…Mr. Malfoy. Awfully cozy in here, isn't it?"

"No," said the two boys dully.

"Well …ah…it _is _a broom closet." Professor Longbottom's brow furrowed as though he'd just realized he might have barged in on a potentially serious conversation. He realized that Scorpius was staring avidly at the pipe in his hand. With a sheepish cough, Longbottom pocketed the item and said, "Shouldn't you two be heading for the coaches? The Graveyard Grouse is starting in an hour. You wouldn't want to miss it…there's quite a turn-out this year," he paused and winked. "My sources tell me Nearly Headless Nick will be playing the lute."

"Sounds riveting, sir," replied Scorpius smoothly, elbowing past Professor Longbottom and disappearing out into the corridor before Al could say another word.

AAA.

**9:08 PM **

**Carpathia**

_****_**"**_**Aiiiiiiiiii**_**!" **

The shriek of Amanda Longbottom reverberated off the walls of the Gryffindor girl's dormitory, causing all the girls in the near premises to leap up in shock.

"Agrippa…" gasped Rose, putting a hand over her chest. _What. On. Earth. _She glanced over her shoulder and had to stop herself from squeaking.

Carpathia had just stepped out of the girls' loo, her arms and chest splattered with a bucket's worth of fake blood. She looked positively frightening. The scarlet rivulets shone stark and bright against the white bridal dress underneath.

Amanda rose from the floor and set her elbows on top of her bed. "_Carpathia_? Morgana's tits, I thought the Bloody Baron was cross-dressing. What _are _you?"

"An ex-wife," deadpanned Carpathia, trying to put on an apologetic expression. Rose started to laugh, and Elissa Travers—who was sitting, frozen, by the edge of her bed—joined in.

Carpathia had to admit that the costume idea was brilliant. She and Louis had wholeheartedly agreed that they would be the most terrifying couple at Halloween and had pooled their expenses to do just that. Slashing up a bridal gown and applying copious amounts of eyeliner also happened to be well attuned to her artistic tastes.

Amanda shivered, prompting the golden cobra carving on her Egyptian headband to hiss in annoyance. The shoulder-length, sleek black wig she wore shone in the light, and her eyes were lined with a shocking blue. "Not even going to ask. At least you're not wearing blackfor once."

"At least she's _comfortable_," complained Rose, who had spent the last half hour moaning in agony in front of the mirror. "I can't breathe in this ruddy thing."

Elissa giggled. "I think you got the naughty end of the costume store."

Unfortunately, the girl was on point. Rose wore a tight leather corset that squeezed her chest and left little to the imagination. To match, the contours of her buttocks and legs were clearly visible through the tight leather trousers and knee-high boots. The redhead grimaced at her reflection in the mirror and pulled her Hogwarts robes tighter around her. "Right. This is what I get for switching costumes last minute."

"Do you have a whip?" snorted Amanda, "You must have a whip."

With a deadened look, Rose held up a black riding crop with strips of frayed gold at the end. "Oh, look. Free accessory."

Amanda cackled. "Rowan's going to piss himself."

Rose swatted her comment away. "Doubtful. Though I don't think this is what he had in mind when he asked to go as dragon-slayers."

"Did your costumes come as a set?" said Elissa, her eyebrows waggling. "I want to see his half."

Rose gave her the evil eye. "I can't believe you're dressed as my _mother." _

Elissa shrugged and wound a strand of her frizzy, dyed-brown hair around her finger. "Hermione Granger's an easy one to do…just throw on a pair of old-school Hogwarts robes you might get from your parents. Anyway, _don't_ detract from the subject. If you don't want Rowan, may I have him?"

Rose rolled her eyes and grabbed Carpathia by the arm. "We're going to be late if we continue listening to the two of you prattle on. Come on, Thia, let's go spend a nice, platonic evening with our nice, platonic mates."

Carpathia turned around just in time to see Amanda mouth '_platonic_' to Elissa with dramatic air quotes.

"You don't think Rowan's going to mind, do you?" Rose prodded Carpathia on the way down to the Entrance Hall. "It's a little revealing, but I reckon he'd be cool with it."

"I think you're thinking too much," said Carpathia frankly. Her statement was validated by the grin that lit up the Rowan's face when he spotted the two of them enter the vicinity.

"You both look fantastic," said Rowan with a serious nod.

"Really? I'm about to murder you," Rose fired back.

"What are you covering yourself up for?"

"I look like a dominatrix."

"Go on, let's see," Rowan grinned, tugging at the knot of Hogwarts robes Rose had clutched towards her front. "It can't be that bad."

"_Yours _are alright!" exclaimed Rose, surveying Rowan's leather vest and loose black trousers with horror. "How come _yours _are alright? And you've got a cool sword and everything!"

"Can't say I don't mind the whip." Rowan's eyes traveled down the length of her riding crop and mimed a slapping motion. In response, she pinched his cheek.

Louis was standing a little ways back, watching the exchange with amused eyes. He looked drop-dead gorgeous as always; the splash of scarlet blood on his cheek made him look like a bloodthirsty angel rather than a terrifying creature of the dead. With the absence of an undershirt, his dusty black suit gaped open in the front and allowed passersby to admire Louis' toned chest.

He responded to Carpathia's appraising eyes by cocking his head slightly. _He knows he looks good_, thought Carpathia, and vowed not to burgeon his ego any further.

Louis' eyes traveled back to Rose and Rowan and cleared his throat. "What are you two supposed to be?"

"Oh, can't you tell?" responded Rose vehemently. She released Rowan's cheek and he stood back, winced, and rubbed the red marks that Rose's fingers had left. "George and Tilly Tokes. The dragon-slaying duo of the 19th century."

"That's catchy." Louis grinned.

Rowan snapped his fingers and he smiled triumphantly, as if he'd just had a 'eureka' moment. "_You two _are a zombie bride and groom."

"Not quite. My inspiration was Cadmus Peverell," said Louis with a pleased expression. When the other three shot him quizzical looks, he elaborated: "From '_The Deathly Hallows_'? The second brother who went bonkers after seeing his dead bride through the resurrection stone? I thought our take of it might be funnier."

"Don't mind him," Carpathia stage-whispered, "He thinks he's a genius."

"They just haven't seen it yet, my dear," quipped Louis cheerfully. He grabbed her the arm and spun her into a twirl. Unable to find her footing in time, Carpathia let out a small squeak of surprise and tripped over her own heels. Her nose was inches away from the ground before Louis quickly yanked her up to eye-level again.

"Attention-loving wanker," gasped Carpathia, doubling over.

Louis promptly took her hand and placed it to his lips. "You'll thank me in about two seconds."

Carpathia frowned, wrenching her hand away. Did he _want_ to start rumors?

"Don't you two look fetching!"

Though the statement was innocent by itself, the words hit Carpathia like a nasty odor. She swiveled and spotted Isabel standing next to Al, her arm looped around his. _I love her. _She heard him clear as day, and for that moment nothing else existed.

"Hello you two," greeted Louis politely. He slung his arm around Carpathia's shoulder in a rather purposeful manner. "You look hideous, Al."

Carpathia's shoulders loosened at this tactful choice of topic. The contrast between Al and Isabel's costumes couldn't have been more hilariously planned. Isabel's shimmering forest-green dress was cinched to perfection in all the right places, while Al's neon-purple robes dropped off his arms like a potato sack.

"Couldn't agree more," said Carpathia brightly. His eyes snapped to hers instantly and his mouth twitched. She thought perhaps he might throw back something playful in return-

"Good _lord_," enunciated Rose, addressing Al with no merciful degree of derision. "This has to be a new low."

"Oh lay off. It's not his fault." Rowan leapt in and tousled Al's hair. "Not all of us have the liberty to escape the repressive regime that all men must eventually succumb to. I'm referring, of course, to that monstrosity known as…" He lowered his voice dramatically and winked at Isabel, "The Girlfriend."

A snort slipped out of Al's lips and he responded in kind, putting on a thick, lordly accent: "I do what I must, for all men."

Isabel frowned at the not-so-subtle jab. "You _said _you wanted to be Merlin with me, didn't you? Don't act as if I didn't_ ask_ first."

"No, I _know _that…" placated Al, his smile falling instantly. "Don't be like that, love, we're only joking…"

"Bugger," said Rose suddenly, and the redhead's face contorted with dismay. "Selma's coming this way."

"She is?" panicked Isabel, instantly grabbing onto Al as though that would help conceal her. "I'm a fifth-year. I'm not supposed to be here."

"Relax," murmured Al, patting her hand. "She doesn't know that."

Carpathia followed the direction of Rose's gaze. The Head Girl had detached herself from a conversation with Scorpius Malfoy and was now weaving through the throng of students in their direction.

"Get—me—out of here," muttered Rose jerkily.

"Rose!" said Selma rather brashly. The Head Girl looked sleek and glamorous in a navy-blue cocktail dress and silver cloak. Her trademark lipstick winked bright red against the night. "There you are."

"Here I am." Rose placed her hands on her hips.

"I just heard a rather alarming rumor from Malfoy. Someone's been distributing false ID's." Selma's eyebrows rose in criticism. "I _thought_ I told you to keep things in check."

There was a small cough on Carpathia's right and she noticed Al reaching up to rumple his hair not so inconspicuously.

A look of displeasure knotted Rose's features. "I have no idea how people have been getting their hands on false ID's," she responded. "And I doubt Malfoy's just being a good citizen. Have you checked hispockets too?"

The Head Girl hesitated before lowering her voice embarrassedly. "I'm afraid not."

A shadow passed across Rose's face, but she smiled sweetly. "Well, perhaps you should."

Selma's chest heaved dramatically, as though she'd just been informed of a death in the family. "That's the trouble with _bad _prefects isn't it? At any rate, I'm hoping you'll take the reins of responsibility for the evening and make sure no more underage students will be attending tonight." With that, she gave the group a polite nod and walked off with barely a misstep in her three-inch heels.

"She's _so _brill," said Isabel irreverently.

"Isn't she," muttered Rose, whose cheeks were flushed with anger as she stared after Selma. Carpathia couldn't blame her; she'd just been publicly berated in front of her friends. "Lets get a coach before we have to queue. Al, you coming with us or not?"

"Oh, I'm not-" Al said quickly.

"We'd love to!" said Isabel brightly, drowning out his words. "Wouldn't we, Al?"

Carpathia met Al's eyes silently. _You don't have to_. _It'll be awkward for the both of us. _But Isabel tugged insistently on Al's arm and his face hardened with resolve. "Yeah, alright then."

Louis squeezed her arm as the group began shifting into motion.

"Just smile and wave, love," he whispered.

Carpathia groaned inwardly. She tried catching Al's eye again but he seemed keen on avoiding her gaze. _This is going to be some night. _

AAA.

**9:21 PM **

**Scorpius**

"Oi! Flint! Put that away, you twat," scolded Scorpius, cutting into a group of sixth-year Ravenclaws and snatching away the Firewhiskey bottle Caleb Flint had to his lips. Caleb scowled and made a lumbering effort to retrieve the bottle back.

"Duh-don't spoil the _fun_, Scorp," said Caleb. "I th-thought this was _your _party."

"There's not going to _be _a party if you continue drawing attention to yourself." Scorpius shot back with barely-concealed exasperation. "_Sobrietus._" A white cloud pulsed out of the end of his wand and volleyed up Caleb's nostrils.

The boy shuddered and instantly took on a look of calm befuddlement. Good, thought Scorpius, at least he lookslike his usual self.

"Watch him," he berated Caleb's companions, who were trying their best not to laugh. "And you lot better get your arses down to the carriages."

_Christ._ The milling heads and excited chatter of adrenaline-pumped teenagers were enough to make Headmistress Fell frown suspiciously from her position at the top of the stairs. Scorpius took out the metallic identification disk that Al had handed to him only an hour before and fiddled with it nervously beween his fingers.

He heard a chuckle behind him. _"_You're a bit on edge, aren't you?"

Scorpius did a double-take. The Head Girl was walking towards him in a slinky blue number that, all things considering, made her look like sex on a stick.

"Careful," warned Scorpius, averting his eyes. "Fell's watching everyone like a hawk. You look nice, by the way."

Selma folded her arms. "I just came by to say thank you."

"For what?"

Selma had the grace to look disconcerted, though she masked it with a nonchalant wave of her hand. "The other night."

"Not a problem."

Selma twisted a strand of her dark hair between her fingers, carefully deliberating her next few words. "I thought it would be prudent to apologize. You caught me at a vulnerable moment, and I'd appreciate it if you kept it between us."

"_Yes_, Selma. You can trust my mouth is sealed." Scorpius exhaled, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. Fell's narrowed look, which he could spot all the way from here, was causing heart palpitations.

Selma's eyes widened at the metallic disc that Scorpius was twirling between his fingers. "Is that _false identification_?"

Scorpius froze, his fingers immediately clamping over the flashy disk in his hand. Bugger. "_No_. Do I look underage to you?"

"Don't start, because I had you checked out." Selma glared. She tapped her foot and her lips pursed in disapproval. "Well, you've got some nerve ratting out your peers, don't you? I _specifically _said I wasn't going to allow underage wizards-"

"Weren't you just in the middle of thanking me?" inquired Scorpius smoothly, rendering the Head Girl speechless.

"Wha—oh—_fine_," she grumbled, tossing her hair over her shoulder in indignation. "Good thing I had a chat with Rose."

The sound of her name prompted a small spasm in his chest. "Now look who's the rat."

Selma sighed and smoothed down her dress, appearing not to have heard. "A few of my friends and I have got champagne bottles set up in our carriage. Join us? You and Gareth?"

Momentarily flattered, Scorpius flashed her a smile. "'Course. Wouldn't miss it."

She blew him a quick kiss and sauntered off.

"Scorpius." Gareth approached Scorpius in a heavy gladiator suit. Scorpius blinked in bewilderment at this somewhat flashy choice of costume. _Who is _he_ trying to impress_?

"Ye look like yer 'bout to hex someone," observed Gareth. Everything about him was shiny; from the flecks of his tipped hair to his golden suit to the bright red belt tied around his waist. Unnerving.

"The sooner we get as many people off to Hogsmeade the better."

"_Yours _are alright?" Scorpius started as a familiar female voice reached his ears and, without even thinking, he swiveled towards the source of the noise. "How come _yours _are alright?"

The unmistakable flash of red-gold hair caused his heart to conduct an unsettling somersault. Weasley. He felt a horrible childish urge to barge into her conversation and pull on her braid just so that he could capture her attention. _I like you. And I hate myself for it. _He hated to admit that she looked fantastic, but she did. The sight of her in constricted leather clothing, her hair pulled back in a meticulous, shiny fishtail, was altogether confusing and outlandish and yet prompted a sour tightness in his throat to emerge as if someone had shoved a lemon down his esophagus. Why did she have to look so damn _fit_?

_I hate myself for it. _Her words. The memory of the utter disgust that had lined her face when she'd looked at him was enough to pause him in his tracks.

_Gareth's standing right there_, he told himself and he tore his eyes away.

He whirled around and faced his companion with an exultant grin. "Guess what? _I've_ got us an invitation to the Head Girl's carriage."

Gareth snorted in response.

_And now…I can finally enjoy myself. _Scorpius reached for Caleb Flint's discarded bottle. 

AAA.

**9:48 PM **

**Rose**

_Bang! _

Gobstones rained down on Rose, landing with small clunks in her hair and shoulders.

"That's you again, Rosie," said Louis smugly.

Rose groaned, and put the bottle of Ogden's to her lips, wincing as the smoky liquid roared down her throat. She was getting terribly dizzy, though not in a bad way. Her head felt like it was soaring above the clouds.

"You are all _awful _people," she said resolutely.

There was sudden jolt, and the entire carriage bumped upwards. Rose giggled and felt herself being thrust backwards onto Rowan's chest, prompting him to shift uncomfortably beneath her. The unseen thestrals outside whinnied in discomfort as the wheels dragged along the cobblestones.

"I've had enough of Gobstones," announced Isabel suddenly.

"You're just saying that because you haven't had any to drink," chided Al.

"Well, I can't help it if I'm good at the game," said Isabel with a tint of self-satisfaction. "Why don't we play 'I've never'?"

"I second that," said Rowan. She heard his voice rumble from deep within his chest. "Red starts."

"_I _start?" Rose raised her head and tossed her friend a dark look. His chin nearly poked her in the eye. "What, am I target practice tonight?"

"No. Just a hilarious drunk," jibed Louis.

Rose moaned and buried her face back into Rowan's chest. "The universe is against me." Her voice was muffled as she spoke from the confines of Rowan's neck. As always, he smelled like an odd combination of soap and soft Indian spices.

"You okay, Rose?" voiced Al, momentarily concerned. "Rowan, take care of her."

Rose let out a 'pff' of air and her head rose defiantly. "You worry too much, dear cousin. I digest whiskey like fiber biscuits."

"Play the _game_, Rose," said Louis loudly.

"_Alright_!" She raised a finger. "I have never…_kissed_ someone who I considered to be a friend."

Rowan swiped the bottle of Ogden's lying on the seat. Rose turned to gape at him in amazement and he turned pink. "_Who?"  
><em>

"Amanda," muttered Rowan, "Who hasn't kissed Amanda?" He took a swig from the bottle and wiped his face. "I've never had sex."

There was a pause as everyone swiveled towards Carpathia. She had an oddly contorted expression on her face; her eyes were fixed on Isabel and Al, as though she were waiting for a response.

"Hello dreamy," prodded Louis, chucking a bright orange piece of candy at her face. "Anybody in there?"

"Right." Carpathia blinked. "Sex. Fun stuff." She said this aridly and pressed the bottle to her mouth, taking a sizable gulp so that the liquid inched down at least a finger's width.

It was Louis's turn. "I've never had a girlfriend." Al and Rowan both drank.

"I've never hexed Scorpius Malfoy," announced Isabel. There was a round of laughter all around, and Rose's heart shuddered with shame and anger at the sound of his name.

"Don't know what you're missing out on," blurted out Rose as she took what felt like her umpteenth gulp of alcohol. She felt her eyes sting from the burning sensation that flared in her throat.

"Seems like a rite-of-passage," observed Louis.

"It is," said Al and Carpathia simultaneously. Al cleared his throat in disgruntlement.

"I've never…" His eyes fell on Isabel and a rueful smile bloomed across his face. "Known a year at Hogwarts where I've not been in love with Izzie."

Isabel's cheeks shone bright pink, but not in displeasure. Her fingers tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and she smiled faintly as Louis and Rowan began to boo incessantly.

Rose made a motion of sticking a finger down her throat. She looked up to catch Carpathia's eye, thinking that the other girl might share the same sentiment that Al was being an unbearable wuss, but there was no trace of humor in Carpathia's face. On the contrary, she looked like someone had stepped on her toes with a three-inch spike. _Oh, _realized Rose with a pang of sympathy, _poor her. _

"Oi," commanded Al, addressing all the protesting occupants within the carriage. "Shut up and consume."

They obliged. "Consume!" Carpathia stayed silent as the bottle was passed from hand to hand.

_Urggggh_, thought Rose, her head weighing down as the effects of low-quality whiskey descended upon her. She pressed her forehead against Rowan's shoulder, circling both her arms around his neck. His Adam's apple bobbed in her field of vision.

"Alright," she heard him say gently as he stroked her hair. "That's enough for you."

"I've never…" began Carpathia. She took several seconds of silence to ponder her next few words. Then, with an unmistakable tinge of scorn: "I've never strung a bloke along for three years."

The mood changed. Perhaps she hadn't meant to say the words so bluntly, but the impact was monumental. Isabel's mouth hung open and two bright red spots materialized on her cheeks.

"Thia-" said Al tightly and Louis jumped in.

"Fancy that! I've got a pack of Exploding Snap in my pocket-"

"No, it's alright," barked Isabel, whisking the bottle away from Carpathaia's hands and putting it to her lips. Her mouth was a thin line as she regarded Carpathia with barely-concealed rage. "Since we're being honest."

Carpathia rolled her eyes, but she had clearly realized her error. "You don't have to take everything so seriously. You've been doing it all night."

"Good lord, as if I'd ever take anything _you _said seriously," bit back Isabel in a trembling falsetto, "You're a nobody."

Carpathia folded her arms and fire flared in her eyes. "I'm a Nott. Nott's are _not _nobodies."

"Not Nott?" inquired Louis weakly, receiving stony looks from all around.

Al quickly grabbed the bottle from Isabel's clenched fist with a deadened expression. "Both of you, stop. We're here."

_Perfect timing, _thought Rose in relief. She looked out the window, her vision blurring slightly as she registered the familiar cobbled street of Hogsmeade's main square, where the coach had rattled to a stop.

**AAA. **

**9:48 PM **

**Scorpius**

"Mate." Gareth's hand gripped the champagne bottle in his hand firmly. "I think you've had enough."

"Nonsense," replied Scorpius adamantly, aware that his vowels were slurring together. "I've worked hard for this."

Selma and a very pretty seventh-year girl (Yasmine? Jasmine?) next to her tinkered with laughter. "Let him have it, Nott," agreed Selma.

"Haven't you gotten accustomed to Scorpius' drinking habits?" the smooth, silky tones of Chantal drew Scorpius' attention, reminding him of the unfortunate fact that she was also present.

He hadn't expected her company when he'd accepted Selma's invitation to join them. To be frank, he hardly knew the other occupants of the coach all that well; they were mostly just a blur of seventh-year faces that he knew Selma frequently associated with.

The few faces he did know were none too friendly-Head Boy Desmond McLaggen, whose dislike for him was apparently well known, and, of course, Chantal, the new lady in his life. As usual, she looked spectacular in a form-fitting, high-neck red dress. Her hair fell in lush strands around her face and her catty green eyes were lined with gold glitter, which provided them an eerie glow as she stared down at him.

Scorpius liked to make the analogy that Chantal was like a Quidditch game that never ended—exhilarating at first, but nauseous over prolonged periods. That said, paired with the certainty that Chantal had not taken their separation lightly, he couldn't decipher whether the scorching look she gave him was desire or murderous intent.

As if she'd heard his thoughts, Chantal broke her gaze and smiled serenely out the window. "Ah. We've arrived."

Hogsmeade was bursting with eerie beauty. The houses were lined with mist and the streets were glowing with orange lanterns and festive holiday lights. A trio of ghosts floated above a sign that read 'Hogsmeade Graveyard'.

As the group disembarked from their coach, a loud voice bellowed somewhere amongst the din: _"Portkeys! Portkeys for the krawl over here!" _Clusters of Hogwarts students were making their way up to Three Broomsticks, chattering in boisterous excitement now that they were out of earshot from their professors.

"_Fantastic_." Selma shivered in anticipation. "I'll see you lot later!" She grabbed Yasmine (Jasmine?) by the arm and raced forward, her dress flashing in the darkness.

Scorpius attempted to lurch after her, only to realize that he couldn't quite figure out which foot to start from. The cobblestones rose slightly to meet him.

"_Feck_," grunted Gareth, pulling him backwards with the back of his tunic. "You're plastered."

"_Desmond, where are you going?" _Chantal's characteristic tone of irritation resounded into the night. She was staring at Desmond's retreating back, her hands cupped around her mouth, as the boy stalked towards the Three Broomsticks. Desmond made no move to acknowledge her; his back was rigid and his hands were curled into balls of anger.

"Trouble in paradise?" snickered Scorpius before his brain had the chance to stop himself.

Gareth sucked in a breath.

Chantal turned to face him. "None of your business." Her voice was cool, but her eyes were bright with emotion.

"You shouldn't let your emotions cloud your judgment, _cherie_." He saw her flinch at the nickname and felt a surge of sadistic pleasure. He knew he was punishing her but felt no shame. Chantal's presence had the terrible knack of turning him into the devil's advocate. "Maybe he's off to find someone who actually likes him."

"_You." _There was a clack of metal as she marched towards him. He grunted slightly as she pulled him up by the scruff of his robes, surprised by her strength. She was truly exquisite in the lighting; her nose curved and regal, her eyelashes brushing against the glitter on her soft cheeks, but she held a power that was both brittle and explosive, that Scorpius would always be afraid of.

"You're so cruel." Her voice was soft and cold.

Her eyes shifted towards something behind him and he heard the distant tremor of Rose's laugh somewhere in the distance. _Calm, _he thought, as his restless heart stirred—but there it was, the impossible thrill. She was close by.

Chantal's lips quirked upwards. "You shouldn't wear your heart on a sleeve," she leaned in and whispered in his ear, "It doesn't suit you."

From what he could remember, Chantal had always tasted unbearably sweet, as if she'd just swallowed sugar cane. For a moment, Scorpius caught that the taste lingering just barely on his lips, and then her tiny, strong fingers unclasped him and she was gone.

AAA.

**10:01 PM**

**Carpathia**

The Three Broomsticks was stuffed to the brink with students. _Portkeys! Portkeys to the Krawl over here! _Sweat trickled down the back of Carpathia's neck. It was positively suffocating.

"Thia!"

Carpathia started and turned to see her brother threading through the crowd. His golden gladiator suit glimmered under the light.

"Thank Merlin's arse. There you are-" He stopped rigidly in his tracks and his face turned immediately puce at the sight of Louis.

"Yes. Jaw-dropping. I know," said Louis, his voice dripping with irony. He gestured to the rest of his body as if he were opening an invitation, and Gareth let out a puff of disgust, immediately turning away.

Carpathia rolled her eyes. "Have you just gotten here? Where's Scorpius?"

"Here," grunted Gareth, pushing the aforementioned person rather roughly towards her. Scorpius stood falteringly on his two feet and greeted them with a lazy smile. His blond hair fell in disheveled strands across his face.

" 'wotcher," said Scorpius, his eyes oddly bright as they met Carpathia's. "_Best _Halloween _ever_, wouldn't you say?"

Carpathia shot Gareth a deadened look. He shrugged. "I did try to stop him."

"I spoke to the _manager_," bragged Scorpius, oblivious to this exchange, "I've gotten ten of us a Portkey."

"Christ. How many has he had?" Al's voice materialized behind them, and Carpathia felt the hot flume of his breath tickle the back of her neck.

"That depends if ye count shots or by the bottle," said Gareth sardonically.

Al pushed past Carpathia gently so that he was standing in front of Scorpius. After pausing a moment to give Scorpius a once-over, he stated: "You look like shit."

Scorpius grinned and made an obscene gesture.

At this point Rose and Rowan had managed to jostle through the crowd and join them, their delay having been caused by the former leaning heavily on the latter for support. They seemed to be engaged in a rather one-sided conversation, with Rose chattering in an overly animated to fashion to a rather amused-looking Rowan, who was far too entertained to stop her.

"…_so then I said to Hugo, 'Well, the reason why mum's roast tastes so rotten is because I saw her put doxy droppings in the mix'…you should have _seen _him…he turned positively green…_"

She froze in her tracks as she spotted them, her face taking on an odd spark of determination as Scorpius Malfoy appeared on her registry. Carpathia knew what was coming next. They all did.

She lurched forward, detaching herself from Rowan, and announced blatantly: "Oh look, it's the world's most responsible prefect here to chaperone us for the evening."

Scorpius' eyes blazed to life at the sound of her voice. "Is that a bottle of Ogden's? I was under the impression you hated the stuff."

Rose swatted the air as if she'd just encountered a particularly irksome insect. "I _do _hate it. Just because it's poison doesn't mean I can't drink it."

"Awfully contradictory of you, isn't it?" replied Scorpius, his eyes glittering, "To hate something and still want more out of it?"

"Am I the only one who finds it hilarious that the two people organizing this event are completely pissed?" remarked Louis.

"We're not pissed," snapped Rose and Scorpius simultaneously.

The moment passed comically as the other members of the group attempted to conceal their snorts. Scorpius blinked several times, and then nodded at Rowan. "What are you two supposed to be? Lethal in leather_?_"

"George and Tilly Tokes," explained Rowan, looking down at Rose with an apologetic grimace. "I thought it would be cool to go as dragon-slayers."

"There's nothing cool about dragon-slayers," said Scorpius a matter-of-factly, "No one should be cutting up dragons. Dragons are abso-fucking-lutely brilliant."

"Er," said Rowan awkwardly, "I liked the sword."

Scorpius took a moment to process this, and then patted the emerald-studded sword attached at to his hip. "Aye."

Al stepped forward, his brow furrowed with a look Carpathia couldn't quite fathom. "Malfoy, could I speak to you for a second?"

"I've got a Portkey!" The revelation sparked in Scorpius' eyes with newfound fervor. "Bloody hell, we've got to get to our Portkey. We're going to a RAVE!" With an uncharacteristic whoop, the boy blew the strands of unkempt hair out of his face and dove back into the crowd.

"Thanks, you lot." Gareth beelined after him.

"Hm, _there _goes our Portkey," stated Rose flatly. "Come along, George Tokes, we'll get our own." She towed Rowan's arm and cut straight through a crowd of seventh-year Ravenclaws. "_Excuse _me, Jenny."

"Malfoy!" called out Al in an exasperated voice, craning over the heads of other students. When it became clear the other boy was in no mood to listen, Al resigned and stopped in his tracks.

"Is he alright?" inquired Carpathia. _He's worried_, she realized, and she reached out and placed a hand on his arm without thinking. His eyes suddenly registered what she was doing and he jerked his arm back.

She stared at him for several seconds. She knew she ought to have been somewhat ashamed by her behavior on the coach, but surely he wasn't going to be angry because of it?

"It's not fair," her voice broke. The truth was dangling on the tip of her tongue, so precariously close to emerge fully-fledged. "You have no clue what's really going on-"

"I don't want to know," said Al fiercely, his eyes flitting toward Isabel only a few yards away. "Just…give me some space, alright? I need some time."

This felt different, somehow, from their other quarrels. Carpathia's heart sank in her chest.

"Yes." Her eyes blurred and she let him walk off.

AAA.

**10:15 PM**

**Louis**

Seconds before the Portkey launched off into nether-space, Louis became aware that Carpathia's eyes were full of tears. He turned his head towards his companion, opening his mouth to inquire what the matter was, when-

_Bang_! The wind knocked into Louis like an iron clog and lifted him off the ground. For several seconds, he grappled at empty air as the world spun before his eyes…before realizing that he was headed for a hard fall. He braced himself just as his body slammed into the pavement.

Pain shot up his side. Swearing profusely, he got to his feet and brushed the hair out of his eyes.

_Well, then. _Gone was the charming, quaint scene of Hogsmeade, which was now replaced by the smoke and dust of Muggle London. Cars squealed and neon lights flashed. A faint bass pounded from a distance.

There was a cough to his right and Louis turned to see his cousin brushing dust off his robes, looking equally disoriented as he helped Isabel to her feet.

"Old Portkey," said Al. His voice was devoid of any humor.

"You don't say," agreed Louis, carefully studying his cousin. Carpathia was a silent stone next to him. "Now where is this place?"

As if to answer his question, there was a loud _crack_. Al's eyes darted down towards the pavement, widening in alarm. A strange bluish-white light was piercing through the cobblestones, like the image of sunshine pouring through a sieve. "Get back!"

Louis pushed Al and Isabel out of the way just in time. An enormous blue-tinted building burst out of the ground and carved itself into the Muggle road like a vicious drill. Blissfully unaware as always, the muggle cars on the road promptly switched directions and skirted around the building.

"Good lord," said Isabel, stunned. Louis shared her sentiment.

A stream of muggles that had crossed the road into their side of the street were now filing around them, though none seemed to notice the giant nightclub that had appeared out of thin air. A sign marked '_Club Kneazle'_ framed the doorway and the silver etch of a feline creature began to pace over the sign with an air of impatience.

Louis stepped forward.

There was a growl. The silver creature above the doorway leapt to the ground, sprouting mounds of ginger fur in mid-air. The rest of its body somehow expanded and seemed to fill out with color, and when this had finished, the creature rose up silently on hind-legs. It stood at a startling height of two meters and peered down at them with a look of immense dislike.

"IDs please." The kneazle leaned in so close that its stony, black-colored eyes seemed to peer into Louis' soul.

He raised his eyebrows and pulled out his ID tag, motioning the rest of the group to do the same. The kneazle inspected each metal identification disc with narrowed eyes. Isabel shifted agitatedly.

"All in order." The Kneazle handed back the ID tags and instantly shrunk to the size of a house-cat. With a content purr, it began rubbing its tail against Louis' leg.

"_Okaaaay, _thanks," said Louis, carefully stepping around the kneazle. Its freckled face grinned in reply.

Carpathia snorted and spoke up softly, "You weren't joking about Veela magnetism."

"Mm," grunted Louis, scanning the milling heads of Hogwarts students that were crowded around the entrance. "Are you alright?"

Carpathia swallowed, her eyes darting towards Al and Isabel, who were walking a little ways ahead of them with their retreating backs pasted side by side. "Fine."

"So…" he attempted a stab of humor. "Your brother's gone all out with his costume, hasn't he? Do you reckon he brought a sword so that he could murder me in secret?"

A spasm of laughter echoed across her face. "God, Louis, I'm sorry. I don't know what his problem is with you."

"…_absolute bollocks!_"

Scorpius' inebriated tones echoed ahead of them. They saw the familiar silver-haired boy looking deeply infuriated, his hands gesturing wildly at a wizard in a bright magenta suit. "_You promised me a good time, Lance, and there's barely any people in there. The DJ's half-pissed and no one's having a good time. This is false advertising, that's what this is. We've got Harry Potter's _son _coming here, you know-_"

"Christ," Louis heard Al say in disbelief. "What's he gone and done _now_?" He watched his cousin rumple his auburn hair in exasperation and murmur something imperceptible to Isabel, before leaving her side to march over to the commotion. Isabel waited several moments before heading into the club.

"Let him sort it out," said Carpathia tautly, pulling him in the direction of the entrance.

They slid past the bouncer and entered the darkness. _Club Kneazle. _For a moment, all he could see were a spread of laser lights. The hiss and steady bass of the club felt like the heartbeat of a heaving, excited animal. The walls were covered in steady, neon-blue lines, creating a sort of halo effect that made it seem as though the ceiling were raining stars. Louis felt the adrenaline build slowly inside him.

"Louis…" Her hand detached from his arm and he whirled around on the spot. Her eyes silently told him not to worry as she melted away into the myriad of bodies, leaving him alone.

_I'm here. _It hadn't been since he'd left France that Louis allowed himself to go to a decent party. The sweat and the heat of bodies moving threw his mind into a form of momentary ecstasy. He felt as if he could have leapt into the crowd and allowed the multitude of arms and legs to sweep him away. Slowly, he felt the familiar rhythm creep up his limbs. His arms and legs, to their own accord, began drifting to the music.

Then he felt a force clamp down on the spot on his arm where Carpathia's hand had been. He whirled around, his heart momentarily clenching in anger, but the sight before him forced the words back down his throat.

_You_.

The music was too loud for his voice to be heard, but he was certain that his lips had transmitted the message.

_Sorry, _the other mouth replied.

Feelings, feelings, so many damn feelings…some of which Louis couldn't even begin to process. But there was one emotion he was certain of, and that emotion meant everything. He clutched the hand that reached out for him and let himself be pulled away.

**AAA. **

**10:47 PM**

**Rose **

"_Shots_!"

Despite Rose's weak protests, Amanda and Elissa placed three neon-blue vials of clear-colored liquid in front of her. After a series of obligatory girlish screams, they embraced, clanked their vials and downed their liquids.

"_Dance with us!" _Amanda's blusterous voice had been reduced to a mere ringing at this point.

Rose shook her head, gesturing at her own contorted expression. _This is going to be death of me. _

"Fair enough," sighed Amanda. She dragged Rowan away by the arms, though he seemed reluctant to depart with them. "We'll be back for you."

Rose nodded and clutched the lone seat at the bar like it was a lifeboat. She heard Rowan say in her ear, "Don't go anywhere." Then he was gone, and she was left with her own two, unsteady legs.

"Blimey." A hand caught onto her shoulder and steadied her. "Are you alright?"

She turned and saw an unknown freckled face staring down at her. _He's got nice hair, _she thought dimly, _but awful spectacles. _

"Fine," she said as lightly as she could manage. "_Bugger_!" Her elbow had knocked into a glass and upturned it, causing the frothy scarlet liquid to gloss over the bar table.

"Hey, careful," snapped one of the barmaids. Her face momentarily transformed, sprouting a beak in the place of a nose and mouth, the pupils of her eyes widening until they were black and vicious. "That's premium mahogany."

Rose made a face. _Veelas. _

The bespectacled man who had caught Rose stared at the barmaid/Veela in fascination. "That's an amazing mask. Is it digital? How do you manage to turn it on and off?"

The barmaid instantly reverted to her exquisite self. Nervously, she tossed her shimmering blond hair over her shoulder and proceeded to move on to another customer.

"You can see her face change?" asked Rose, temporarily forgetting her intoxication. "How is that possible? You're a mug-"

She stopped herself just in time. Luckily, the man didn't seem to notice. He was fairly young, she surmised, with extreme curls framing the side of his rather chubby face. He also happened to be donning a long, ostentatious trenchcoat.

"I'm Sherlock Holmes," he replied, noting her gaze. "Fitting, eh?"

He might as well have been speaking Troll. She could only nod, and the man frowned and adjusted his spectacles. "You know, the detective? You might know the TV series…everyone's gone mad for it."

She just looked blankly at him.

He coughed. "Anyway. I go to the university here in London."

Rose raised an eyebrow. "You're studying at a University?"

The man shook his head. "I was meant to be placed after my final year, if I hadn't botched up my grades. I've only just decided to start my PhD." He made a face. "Anyway, whereabouts do you study?"

Rose blinked. "Oh, I'm still in…boarding school."

"Brilliant!" said the man, promptly deciding to finish off the statement with a large swig of Firewhiskey. "This drink's on a whole new planet. Are you thinking about applying to any universities?"

"No," she said automatically, and then mentally slapped herself.

"Wow!" the man said, looking taken aback. "Free-thinker… I like it! Nothing like the school of life, eh?"

"Yep. _What's your name_?" said Rose loudly, changing the subject.

"David," he replied. There was a loud roar and they both turned towards the noise. A fully-fledged tiger had pounced onto the dance platform and was proceeding to romp obnoxiously amongst the female dancers, its tail flickering behind him. Moments later, the tiger transformed back into the inebriated form of Caleb Flint.

"These costumes are amazing!" exclaimed Muggle David, his eyes widening to the size of dinner plates. "What sort of rave is this anyway? I've got to get some people from the IT club in on this."

Before Rose could fix up an appropriate answer, Rowan thankfully swung into the conversation.

"Hellooooo there." He stumbled clumsily into her shoulder, clearly the result of a few added shots. Without allowing space for her response, he leaned forward, cupped the back of her head, and planted a firm kiss on her mouth.

Rose froze, icy shock racing through her veins. Rowan pulled away and beamed at her as though he'd just won a marathon. "You look rather newly sprung, Red. Or Tilly, I should say. I like the sound of that. Tillyyyyyyy!"

_He's drunk_, she realized, _better not think too much of it. _

"Shall we do another round?" Muggle David was asking, having now finished his glass.

Rowan regarded the new entrant of their conversation with a perplexed expression. "Who areyou?"

Rose's stomach did a flip. _Predator sighting_, she thought silently, as Chantal in a sparkly red dress stumbled through the crowd and launched herself onto the bar table.

"_Mai _tai," the girl said imperiously, tossing her hair back so that a few loose stands proceeded to smack Rowan in the face. The bartender raised an eyebrow, gave her an once-over, and motioned at her male counterpart with a disgruntled expression.

"Hi," said Muggle David, looking quite stunned. Chantal regarded his outstretched hand with a faint sniff.

"The proper response is usually to repeat the word," said Rose without thinking.

Chantal's head snapped to the direction of her voice. Rose prepared herself for an earful of curses, but the other girl's face simply smoothed into recognition.

"I'm very very drunk," Chantal stated, as though this was a brand new revelation, and the bartender chose that moment to place a tall frothy glass in front of her. Chantal swept the drink up in her hand and walked rather shakily towards Rose, an unsettling smile creeping up her lovely face.

_Wish I could manage heels in that state_, thought Rose, before Chantal planted herself right in front of her.

"So _you're _dressed rather skimpy tonight."

Rose grimaced. "That did not _just_ sound lesbionic in my head, did it?"

Chantal burst into a round of giggles and her spidery (Rose had never realized how tiny she was built) fingers clutched the table until they became white.

"You alright?" inquired Rose, trying to clear away the haze of the alcohol.

"I cannot find Desmond anywhere," burped Chantal, and her green eyes widened as though this was the worst thing she could have done. "_Mon dieu, _zat was very rude. I will be making a mess later."

"That's okay." Rose patted the girl's back awkwardly. "Better out than in." _Where's Desmond? _She mouthed at Rowan, who instead gave her a goofy smile.

"Ze last time I saw 'im 'e was with Sarah Jenkins," continued Chantal, albeit with a lot more distaste. " 'ufflepuff…nice face, but impossibly _stupid_. Zey were togezzer for seven months before 'e 'ad an affair with _me_." She said this as though she were commenting on her day at the grocery store and Rose had to suppress a flare of anger at this clear sign of blasé selfishness. "Don't I look nice?"

Flat-out gorgeous. "Yes, you're still the fairest girl in the kingdom." She tried in vain not to let the sarcasm bleed through.

Chantal grasped Rose's hands suddenly. "But_ I'm not_! Nobody wants to be with me!"

"Oh no…no…everyone wants to be with you!" amended Rose hastily, prying the girl's fingers off her own. _I can't believe I'm doing this_. "Right, lads? Wouldn't you like to go out with Chantal?"

Rowan and Muggle David, who had clearly no idea what was happening, nodded their assent.

"You're _lying_," Chantal shook her head fervently, her voice hitching up to a wail. "Even Desmond's made it clear he hates me, and I don't even _like _'im zat much. He's so dull, I could fall asleep just listening to 'im speak…do you know he clips 'is nails better zan me." She raised her head and Rose was amused to see tears pooling at the corner of her eyes. "_Perfect _crescents."

"That's awful. Maybe there's hope in facials."

"Don't you dare laugh!" said Chantal, raising her head and fixing Rose with a narrow venomous look that drove the smile from Rose's face.

"You _stole_ 'im from me. If it were not for the fact we are in proper company, I 'ould rip your 'air out…I loved 'im, I _loved_ 'im…" She slumped back onto the table. "But zat is not what everybody thinks."

Just like that, the topic had taken a turn for sobriety. "I didn't-" Rose cast a wary eye in Rowan's direction and lowered her voice, "Listen. Malfoy doesn't…he doesn't love anyone. Certainly not me."

"Perhaps," mumbled Chantal. "But 'e treated you different. I wanted zat."

"You wanted to be psychologically worn down at every golden opportunity?" queried Rose with a small, bitter laugh. "I don't think so."

"I thought it was _just _a family fued. Old 'istory, old war…" she waved her hands dismissively, "But 'im and Albus became close…and now I know 'zere 'ad to be ano'zzer reason why 'e chose _you_. Then, when you cursed 'im, all he wanted was you…and, _oui_, zat hurt _terribly_."

She sniffed again, this time more for drama's sake than sadness, and for that Rose was thankful. "I knew zat it was you. Always you."

Rose felt an unprecedented wave of guilt. How easy it had been to assume that Chantal was as vapid as she projected herself to be. She put a hand on Chantal's arm.

"You're basing this off of what?" she asked quietly. "He didn't ask for me. He'd lost his mind. He didn't know _what _he wanted."

Chantal stared back, her lips quivering slightly. She had gone quite pale. "Surely you don't still believe that."

Rose held those green eyes with her own for a moment, daring the other girl to speak what was on her mind. Her rational told her that Chantal was drunk, but there was something about her misery that felt entirely full of conviction.

"_Baise_! 'Scuse _moi_, I'm going to make a mess." Chantal swayed and doubled over, a retching noise coming out of her throat.

Rose moved to help, but the girl shoved past her and tottered as fast as she could into the dark.

"Blimey," stated Muggle David, mouth hanging open.

"_Rose! Rose!" _Amanda's dulcet shriek made its way to her as the girl appeared before them, flushed and exhilarated, her raven wig askew over her bright blue eyes. "You love this song! We've got to dance!"

Rose had caught the glint of white-blond hair that she hated and loved so much out there in the crowd. He was standing barely ten meters away, and the urge to jostle through the milling heads of her fellow students and slap him in the face (or kiss him, came the fleeting thought) was unbearable.

"Right," she said, turning to Muggle David. "Join us?"

AAA.

**10:42 **

**Scorpius**

Scorpius was certain the manager of Club Kneazle was about to give him a good beating, and he was certain he would have enjoyed it.

"You know, _Lance." _The wizard he was addressing almost seemed to shiver with suppressed hatred at his condescending tone. "Seeing as you probably scored this gig from being not too bright and good at following orders, it surprises me that you could botch up something so simple as the number of champagne bottles that need to be distributed around the room."

"Mister Malfoy," replied Lance with gritted teeth. "Ye know very well s'not club policy to be givin' out summat posh like champagne to regular clients… and I know fer a fact yer not of age."

"Who are you calling underage?" demanded Scorpius suddenly, and the two bouncers in near proximity shifted closer to Lance in response. "Do you know who these bottles are _for_?"

"King Triton? Or another of yer make-believe friends?" grunted Lance. The wizard clacked his teeth and Scorpius caught a flash of gold. "Escort 'im out, lads."

Scorpius grinned and rubbed his palms together. "Excellent." He reached for his wand and felt a hand tighten on his shoulder.

"Stop it." Al's voice. Scorpius found himself surprisingly relieved as the redheaded boy shouldered past him and faced the three wizards squarely. "Is he causing trouble?"

Lance gave him a dubious once-over. "Who are ye 'spose to be?"

"Merlin," replied Al instantly.

"He means your name, twat," said Scorpius with a roll of his eyes.

"Oh." Al blinked. "Albus Potter."

Lance's head snapped back and his jaw fell open, revealing the golden gems glinting in the crevasses of his yellow teeth. "Blimey, 'e is! I seen 'im in the papers! Thas' Dumbledore's grandchild, that is."

"_What_?" coughed Al indignantly, and the hat on his head fell askew across his red curls, "Are youactually _serious_?"

Scorpius elbowed him. _Get to the point._ The two boys locked eyes for a brief moment, and then Al pinched the bridge of his spectacles and heaved an overdramatic sigh. He fixed Lance an impressive, uncharacteristic sneer. "I was promised champagne. Where are my champagne bottles?"

"Ah…erm," Lance fiddled with his thumbs for a moment, and then his shoulders sagged in resignation. "Righ' this way, Mister Potter."

_Ho ho, _thought Scorpius with a satisfied smirk as the two of them were led inside, _he can definitely wear fame rather well when he wants to. _

AAA.

**10:47 PM**

**Albus**

Al had to admit, the champagne was an excellent idea. With the bubbles on his tongue and the buzz finally starting to kick in, he felt at ease with himself.

"Malfoy," said Al, swiveling to look at the other boy. Much to his amusement, Scorpius was pumping his fists in the air in time with the music, his cheeks blown up like pink balloons. Al grinned at this unaccustomed sight of stupidity, and just like that, as though a switch had been turned off in his brain, his anger vanished. "Look. I don't…care."

Scorpius stilled, his fists frozen mid-pump, and Al thought perhaps he'd heard him wrong. "Did you hear me? I don't care that you lied about losing your memories. You're an idiot, but that was months ago and I _trust _you, so for whatever reasons you had, it doesn't matter-"

The words died in his throat when he realized that the boy wasn't looking at him, much less listening to him. Scorpius had fixated his eyes on the bar at the far end of the room, and when Al followed his gaze, he was just in time to witness Rowan planting a firm one on his own cousin's mouth. He heard the loud splinter of glass to his right.

The champagne bottle had fallen off the table-no doubt as a result of one of Scorpius' own fists. Al's first instinct was to kneel down and collect the shards in his hands. He gazed up at the Scorpius, preparing to ask him what the hell his problem was.

And then he realized. The shattered look on Scorpius' face was filled to the brink with suppressed rage and self-deprecation. Al could have recognized that emotion from anywhere, having practically lived in it himself, and only now—he could kick himself for not knowing sooner—now did he finally understand whyit existed.

"Malfoy," said Al. Scorpius didn't move.

"Malfoy," he repeated, standing up and grabbing Scorpius roughly by the scruff of his green tunic. A memory flashed; he was back in his fourth year, and Scorpius had just thrown a Quaffle straight to his head. Al would have never gotten on a damn broom if it hadn't been for that stupid Quaffle.

"I'm glad you're finally doing it, but now's not the time to sit on the sidelines."

A smile flitted across Scorpius' face and his eyes unfocused momentarily. "You're right. I think I'll join Carpathia. She seems to be getting it on with the entire male population in the vicinity."

Al's head snapped around, his hands letting go of Scorpius, and spotted the familiar streak of magenta flashing wildly in the crowd, surrounded by a sea of tall figures and thick moving bodies. "Don't distract me-"

By the time he turned back, Malfoy was gone.

AAA.

**11:10 PM**

**Carpathia **

"_Ladies and gentlemen! Are you having a good time?_"

Typical hype-man ruse. A cheesy move on the club's part, but at this point, the alcohol was thumping through her veins and she didn't care. She grinned and stretched out her arms, following the others around her.

The bass roared up again and trickles of blue light raced up the walls towards the ceiling, gathering into one blinding white spot. She stared, her senses afloat with hazy wonder.

"Hi," murmured a voice by her ear. She turned and caught the glimpse of bright red hair in the flashing strobe light, thinking, _Al, it's Al. _Her heart raced and she pressed herself against him, elated by the music and his touch, and then realized of course that it couldn't be Al. The red hair tugged loose into her fingers, stiff with artificial glue, and an unfamiliar voice whispered in her ear,

"Whoa. You like that?"

She swiveled around, mouth open to snap back a reply, but then noted that his jawline and cheekbones were well-defined and his eyes held an attractive glint.

The red wig in her hand was drawn to look like fire. The bloke took it back and placed the wig back on his head, covering his black hair. _Cute Muggle boy_, she thought, _why not_, then firmly grasped the back of his neck and pulled him towards her. He let out a surprised groan, muffled against her lips, and then placed his hands on her waist, holding her tightly against his pelvis as he swerved to the music.

For awhile this continued pleasantly, successfully taking her mind off of things, and then she realized another body moving up against her. Breaking off from the muggle boy, she realized another bloke had snuck up behind her. He was substantially less attractive, with floppy brown hair caked in blue paint, and he seemed keen on partaking in the fun. He grinned at her and then shouted something to the muggle boy she'd been dancing with.

_They're friends_, she thought with distaste. She stopped and indicated with a motion that she wasn't interested, but the other boy persisted, running his fingers up her stockings. She firmly shoved him away, but he caught her hand and stared back at her with smile.

A hand snaked out of nowhere and gripped her shoulder, yanking her away from the two boys so that she fell back stumbling. She took several seconds to regain her footing.

"She's my girlfriend," she heard Richie state firmly. Surprised, she could barely make out the boy in his all-black costume, except for the trademark brown afro struggling from underneath a bright red bandana.

"Didn't seem like it," said Muggle Boy One, reaching for Carpathia again. Richie's palm slammed into his chest.

"She's my girlfriend," repeated Richie in an uncommonly dangerous tone. "Got it?"

The muggle boy's eyes processed Richie's athletic form, and then made a noise and pulled his companion away with him. Carpathia studied this exchange with interest, noting Richie's clenched jaw and the sweat dripping down his brow.

"Hey," she said, touching his shoulder. "You don't have to do that."

The skin on his neck rippled at her touch and he glanced at her briefly. She sometimes wished that he could look at her for two seconds without blushing.

"I just thought…" The music started up again, hammering out electro notes with obnoxious gusto. Richie raised the volume of his voice as the crowd around him began to cheer. "I like you. Everybody knows it. You know too, don't you?"

In all honesty, she was flabbergasted. "But _why_?"

"Because—" shouted Richie, grinning slightly as he joined in jumping with the others around him. "Because you're unlike anyone I've ever known!"

Carpathia stifled a laugh at the sight of his ridiculous hair bouncing with every step. "I came with Louis."

"Right," shouted Richie, and he grabbed her hands and prompted her to jump with him. "But he doesn't like you the way I do."

"What makes you so sure?" She laughed as the bodies around them shoved into her and glanced off.

Richie shrugged and his lips curled upwards. "Otherwise he'd be here instead of me."

Carpathia smiled faintly; it was sweet, though inherently undeserved. Her heart had skipped the moment she'd spotted Al from across the room, his gaudy purple robes unable to escape distinction even in the speckled light. He was looking directly at her with his head cocked to the side. She knew what that meant; it warranted a conversation.

"All the same," she said definitively, stepping closer to Richie. His throat gulped visibly. "I'm not your girlfriend."

A rueful groan escaped Richie's lips, but when she backed away, he was still smiling and shaking his head at her. His hopeless adoration always came hand-in-hand with her own guilt, she thought as she made her way through the maze of people towards Al, but she'd be lying to herself if she didn't admit that his confession had helped ease her heart.

AAA.

**11:15 PM**

**Rose**

"That was amazing."

Rose gasped, registering the dull ache throbbing in her calves after having danced non-stop for five consecutive songs. Strands of hair had been yanked out of her braid and were now falling unevenly across her face. Her forehead glistened with sweat.

Already the beat of the next track was swelling and she felt herself keen to stay on the dance floor, though Amanda had already begun to grumble that she was in need of another drink.

"You want one?" asked Rowan, extending the invitation to Rose. In response, Rose laughed in exhilaration and flung her arms around him, her hips shifting to the music. A wide smile bloomed over his cheeks, and she found herself staring at his lips, wondering: _Had he really just kissed me a few moments ago_?

Then, as if someone had punctured a nail in his foot, his face twisted in pain. "Ah, Red."

He said this full of riddled emotion. Did he look sad, or was that just her imagination. She disentangled herself away from him, not knowing why, but instinctively understanding that this was probably the better thing to do.

"Better take Amanda for another swig before she throws a tantrum," she said, throwing a knowing look at their companion. The brightness in her tone had become oddly forced. "I'll be here."

He nodded at her assurance, his eyes falling in disappointment. He took Amanda's outstretched hand and led her in the direction of the bar.

Alone, thought Rose. She was alone.

The haziness of the alcohol and the undulation of the music made her feel as if she were flying. A high female voice swooned in, and she jolted in recognition—_I know this song!_ She felt triumph last for about a second, and then she closed her eyes.

**AAA. **

**11:17 PM**

**Scorpius **

Ironically, the next track was an old favorite of his mum's. The powerful, albeit tiresome, wail of Celestina Warbeck detailed the surprisingly tender account of a love affair with a Colombian Quidditch player that had ended badly.

_They got eyes on me, they do-o-o-o_

_But you, it's you, all I crave is you. _

Scorpius mouthed along to the words, remembering a time when 'All I Crave' had made listening to the wireless network a living hell.

An electro flutter scattered Celestina's warbly voice into a more bearable pitch. The crowd screamed collectively as a thunderous bass began to pulse with the melody.

He gazed into the sparsely lit darkness and his heart hammered against his ribcage. There she was again. How terribly unfair it was that what elusive light particles remained still gravitated to her sunset hair. Her _bloody hair…_

As the spotlight drew close, the light created a crescent over her face, illuminating the curve of her nose, and the outline of her cheeks and eyes. He stared…his muscles slack, no longer moving. All that mattered was that she was there, and he could hear her words coursing through his head, _you went ahead and said some pretty words, snogged the living daylights out of me, and then forgot all about it afterwards. It was an absolute prick move. _He recalled the image of Rowan Thomas swooping down and putting his lips on hers and a sizzling heat radiated from his chest to the tip of his ears.

_They got eyes on me they do-o-o- _

_But you, it's you, all I crave is you. _

**AAA. **

**11:17 PM**

**Rose**

Merlin, yes. Whoever had put together this track was a godsend. She'd never been a terribly good dancer, but she'd always enjoyed throwing all caution to the winds when it came to feeling the music. Her blood pulsed as the track climbed, and she cast her eyes across the room in ecstasy, wondering if she was the only one—

The screech of brakes in her mind prompted her to stop in her tracks and her heart seized. The strobe-light glanced off his pale hair and skin like crystals, shattering into smaller pieces and then fading into the dark.

Scorpius. He stood meters away, his posture and his face posing a direct question to her without even having to say a word. The look in his eyes, a culmination of frustration and naked longing, struck her to the bone.

_No._ She _hated _him—yes, she thought furiously, she had said this before, but now, surely now, it was for _real. _Selma had been the last straw. How could she even for one second entertain the idea of—

Only she could.

The sensation of his hand on hers by a marble stairwell, the memory of his lips touching hers on a night filled with cool wind and the smell of the freshly mown Quidditch pitch…they flooded her thoughts with abandon. Of course she could. _Merlin, _that was all she'd been doing the last few months.

She swallowed and her throat bobbed. As if a switch had somehow been triggered, Scorpius' expression changed and he moved towards her, prompting Rose to feel a singular, deep-seated need rise with painful urge -

AAA.

**11:18 PM**

**Scorpius **

He pushed through the crowd, firmly and without care, and in consequence saw her move toward him. Like two magnets coming together from inexplicable directions.

He could see the tension in her jaw and the shine in her eyes. The hairs on his neck stood and his blood became frothing, boiling water.

_They got eyes on me they do-o-o- _

The music was climbing, reaching its climax; the beat shuddered and poor, warbling, Celestina was unable to keep up.

And there she was, in arm's reach. She looked impossibly beautiful; her cheeks smeared with the war paint of makeup and sweat, her eyes glinting with feral anticipation.

There was a space of silence. He couldn't hear her, but he saw her lips move. "What are you doing?"

AAA.

**11:18 PM**

**Rose **

"What are you doing?"

He gave her a look full of intensity. _Don't stop, _she wanted to say, and then a muscle quivered in a jaw and he took one last step forward. Her hands reached for him without even thinking, and she felt a simultaneous jolt in her gut as she felt his hands cup her face.

"Finishing what that _prick_ started." The words ripped out of his mouth.

The music plummeted and waves of sound rippled across the room. Several seconds passed before she realized that they were clinging to each other, their mouths pressed together like their lives depended on it.

_Malfoy…_ She had expected some form of familiarity, but this was nothing like last time. They rose above the sound, the movement of their lips falling into a rough, tumultuous rhythm.

One of his hands gripped her hair tightly and she twined her fingers through the other, guiding him down her back. He groaned. The noise vibrated against her mouth and somewhere deep down she responded. Months of longing and expectation had accumulated into this one moment.

Scorpius pulled away, his hands reaching up to frame her face. They were hot and trembling against her skin. She looked at him, her mouth open, and he looked back at her with shaken eyes. "_Rose_." Above the chaotic noise around them, she heard the low, reverent sound and was surprised by the shape of her name in his mouth.

AAA.

**11:17 PM**

**Al**

His first thought had been a twang of jealousy when he saw Carpathia tiptoe to whisper in Richie Montgomery's ear. His second thought was one of guilt; at Carpathia, at Isabel, at himself.

"Al."

She had waded through the crowd and now stood beside him, her eyes tentative and questioning. Her tattered, white dress cast a haunted glow to her skin. He looked at her and the memory of her warm body waking up beside his stirred an emotion that prompted him to recoil. _No, _he said sternly. No.

"I'm sorry," he said, and before she could ask him what, he pulled her into an embrace and held her. Just go back to normal, please, he thought, feeling her soften beneath him, whatever it was in the past, it's not anymore. "I'll make it work between us and Isabel. It wasn't your fault that I got cross with you. It was—it was mine."

Because it had been. Even now, his mind reached for immediate suppressants as he breathed in the scent of her hair and felt the sensation of her smooth skin against his. It was his own bloody fault. She nodded into his shoulder. "I'm sorry too."

It was a truce, finally, in what seemed to a turning point in their relationship. His mind flashed to the dragon tattoo on her hip and he closed his eyes. _We're both operating on uncharted ground. _Could they even be considered friends anymore? They had to be, because the alternative was unthinkable. He couldn't have been more grateful when she uttered the next few words, and the sweeping relief that came with them:

"I'll never cross the line again."

AAA.

**11:25 PM**

**Carpathia**

_I'm not going to tell him. _

It was for the best, she told herself, as he held her and her heart beat like the wings of a hummingbird.

He pulled away and gave her a smile full of thanks, full of love that was their own kind of love and would never be anything more, and she accepted that it was better to have him this way than have him regard her with doubt from then on. Surely, this was better.

_I'm not going to tell him_.

"Find Isabel," she said, her mouth working around the name as if trying to figure out how to best chew and spit it out.

He nodded and kissed her forehead. Then, he was gone.

_Am I really just going to let it go? _She felt undeniably frustrated and was now acutely aware she needed to pee. She spotted the neon-pink sign of the ladies' room down the nearest corridor and ventured into one of the stalls.

_Merlin. _Her head slammed against the wall as she sat on the toilet, her mind spinning with what was right, and what was _easy_. He'd forgiven her and essentially told her they were back to normal, but how normal was bloody normal?

She could see the two of them five years down the road; Al, still stuck in his own head and aiming for self-fulfilment in whatever career he pursued (in Carpathia's imagination, she'd always thought he'd have a broomstick around in his future occupation), and Isabel—yearning, selfish Isabel—who would drain Al of his mental and emotional faculties. Their quarrels would fly off in opposite trajectories; hers about status and finances, and his about personal understanding. Al would rather self-deprecate than blame the love of his life, and Isabel's ego would be happy to let him do so until he was nothing but a husk of self-esteem.

Their relationship was either going to end, or Al was going to suffer heaps because of it.

She gritted her teeth, groaned, and stood up. _No. You're drunk, Thia. You're not going to tell him. _She zipped up her dress and pushed open the stall door.

The door clanged against the wall. Carpathia halted in her steps, flabbergasted.

"_What _do you think you're playing at?" said Isabel, absolutely livid.

AAA.

**11:20 PM**

**Scorpius **

"_Rose."_ It had been such a long time since he'd last uttered the word, like a buried treasure in his mouth that he could suck on. What a goddamn pity it was that they'd resorted to spitting out each other's surnames like cannonballs, because he would have been happy to say her name, over and over again.

He looked at her parted lips and the flushed band of freckles on her nose. His heart was beating so fast he thought she might hear it, and then he leaned in again, unable to stay away from the sensation that had provoked his senses to unimaginable heights –

Her hand stopped him, erecting a firm barrier on his chest.

_What—_

"You remember," she said, her eyes wide with shock.

She said it the way Al had said it, and Scorpius felt his defenses slowly rise up at the accusatory tone in her voice.

"Yes," he said, shaking his head, "I can explain-"

She tore herself away from him, her expression mingled with horror and disgust, and he knew what was going to happen next before the moments even unfolded. He had seen too many scenarios like this play out between them; someone fucking up, someone getting angry or hurt, someone leaving.

"Rose." He tasted her name again, and the next words rushed out desperately, "Don't-"

"You _liar_." She shoved him so crudely that the back of his heel stumbled. Without allowing him time to speak she had cleared a pathway into the crowd and disappeared, her hair flickering behind her—

_Leave_, finished Scorpius in his head.

AAA.

**11:37 PM**

**Carpathia **

She let the water flow over her hands, watching Isabel cautiously through the mirror as though she were viewing a deadly animal. "What do you want?"

"I saw you." Isabel's voice trembled. "You and Al…he was holding you like…"

"Like _what_?" Carpathia rounded on her and slammed down the sink tap, more infuriated than ever. "Like we've been friends since he was eleven years old? Like there's other people in his life besides _you_?"

"You're not taking him from me."

"You're pathetic," stated Carpathia coldly, wiping her hands on the towel hanging by the mirror. "I was going to keep quiet, you know. I thought I'd at least give you another year, but this is just—you're _mad_," she started laughing. "You've ambushed me in the toilet, for heaven's sake. Are you so insecure that you have to sleep with one Potter, and then feel better about yourself by essentially trapping in the _other _Potter you're supposed to be dating?" She shook her head, and her resolve steeled. "Merlin, what was I thinking? I can't allow this. Al is not going to end up with an insane person."

Carpathia moved towards the door, and Isabel gasped and slammed herself against it, blocking the doorway. "What do you think you're doing?" the girl demanded in hysterical tones, her cheeks sporting two bright spots of pink.

Carpathia stared. "Get out of my way, Isabel," she said in even tones.

"No." Isabel's face was white and unwavering. "Not until you swear you're not going to tell him."

Carpathia uttered a feeble laugh. "_Merlin_."

"Swear."

"No." Carpathia's tone was solid now. "You are _insane_," She enunciated this with no degree of mercy, "And I'm going to tell Al right this second."

Isabel shrieked and, before Carpathia realized, the girl had thrown a punch to her chin and was now dragging her to the floor. There was a searing pain in her head as she realized that Isabel hadsunk her hands into her hair and was now pulling on it.

"You _bitch_," Carpathia spat, shoving the girl off her so that Isabel rolled over and hit the stall door with her head. "This is your plan?"

"I'm going to rip those stupid rings out of your ears," screamed Isabel, launching on top of her again, this time with renewed vigor. "You awful, black-magic _nobody_." She let out a stream of curses that were impressive of a girl her size. Carpathia reached up and cuffed the girl on the side of her head, prompting her to squawk.

Scrambling to her feet, Carpathia shoved open the door and raced out of the girl's loo and towards the dance floor. _Have to find Al, have to find Al. _She scanned the room for the flash of red hair, still unable to comprehend that _this _was to be the remainder of her night. _This is what happens when straight-laced Ravenclaws are fed a bit of alcohol. _

She felt wearied and yet oddly composed, realizing that the weight of concluding whether or not to end Al's relationship had been taken off her. _Fucking Isabel. _She massaged the side of her temple where Isabel had socked her, knowing that a bruise would emerge the next day—

"Thia."

Al's voice radiated with cold fury, and before Carpathia even twisted around, she knew exactly what awaited her.

"What the buggering hellis this?"

"We got into a fight, Al," exposited Isabel in quivering tones, her eyes dark and bitter as she stared at Carpathia with barely concealed hatred. Blood trickled down the corner of her head, and Carpathia noted with a sickening sort of satisfaction that it was _her _who hadinvoked that level of damage.

Still, whatever feelings of contriteness she might have had evaporated instantly. Her wrath rose like a tidal wave. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, don't listen to her. She's _mental_," Carpathia spat, and his face slacked with shock. "She attacked me-"

"I attacked you?" interrupted Isabel shrilly. The bulbous sleeves on her green dress trembled as she raised her arm in the air. "You started it!"

Carpathia stared at her, not quite believing her own ears as to how far she was going to go. "You_ lying slag_," she breathed. "You're not going to pin this on me."

"Don't call her that," retorted Al, but his voice faltered as he turned to regard Isabel with a look of flat disappointment. "Tell me the truth, Iz."

Isabel took a deep shuddering breath. "We were in the loo. Just—making polite conversation. I asked Carpathia whether she knew where you were, and she just threw a punch-"

"_Why?" _shouted Carpathia, feeling rage shake her all the way to her bones. "Why on earth would I do that?"

"Because you're in _love _with him," spat out Isabel. The words fell, resolute and resonating with truth, and Carpathia made no move to protest, perhaps too exhausted to do so. A spasm of pain crossed Al's face as Isabel grabbed Al's hands and pulled them to her chest, her eyes gleaming with spite. "She's in love with you. You know it, I know it…the only reason why I've allowed this to keep going is because of your friendship, but this has gone on long enough-"

"You've got some nerve," whispered Carpathia through clenched teeth, her eyes flashing. She rose up and lunged at Isabel; the maddening hunger to tear off all the ribbons in the girl's hair boiled in her veins, but Al grasped her firmly by the shoulders and shoved her back. "Thia, _don't_." His voice was muted and thick.

"So help me, Al-" said Carpathia in strangled tones, tears pooling in the corner of her eyes. "If you don't move back, I'll hex you."

"And I'll hex you," said Al icily, and the tenacity in his voice prompted her to retreat in shock.

"You believe her." It came out as a soft, wretched wail.

"I don't _want _to!" shouted Al, his eyes screwing up. "I'm so…so _disappointed_."

She knew from his tone that he wasn't simply referring to the moment. He was talking about Devon Lynch, about her prickly and antagonistic view of his relationship, about what had transpired between them barely two nights ago.

"She's lying to you!" shrieked Carpathia, and the anger built up over the last three years, anger that had stemmed from her own faint suspicions about Isabel's character and affirmed with the revelation from the last few weeks, released in one explosive instant.

"Why would she lie?" Al yelled back, gesturing at Isabel like a madman. "Tell me. Why would she-"

Carpathia lost it. "BECAUSE SHE CHEATED ON YOU WITH JAMES!"

AAA.

**11:31 PM**

**Scorpius **

There were a multitude of scenarios he'd once conceived how Rose might have exposed his dishonesty, but none of them involved the aftermath of an earth-shattering snog. He couldn't tell whether this was better or worse, really. The taste of her lingered tantalizingly fresh in his mind.

What was he supposed to say?

_It wasn't _really _a lie; I'm just a really good actor. _

No, she would pepper him with examples that exhibited the fallacy of that logic, and they would row over who was cleverer, or had the moral high ground, and of course the subject he'd _really _been getting at would be abandoned entirely as they retreated into their usual stance of animosity.

_Can't you just see this as a good laugh, Weasley? The important thing is that you feel the same way as I do. _

Definitely not. She'd skewer him alive.

Scorpius closed his eyes and drowned out the music until it had been reduced to a watery hum. He was nearly entirely sober now, save for the incessant drone in his ears and the thick taste in his mouth.

Merlin, he could use for some air. He ambled towards the corridor of the club, excusing himself as two angels collided into him. With a sizable exhale, he crumpled against the cool black walls of the club, feeling suddenly fatigued.

A loud retch broke into his brief moment of peace, prompting him to straighten. Was there someone there with him? He caught the faint glimmer of red, and recognized the polished, expensive hair glinting in the darkness.

"_Chantal_?"

He'd never seen her in a more deplorable posture; she was on her knees, one arm wrapped around her stomach and the other cushioning her forehead against the wall. Scorpius was thankful that the cover of darkness had blotted out the grotesque mess she made.

"Fuck," she moaned, sniffling. The vulgarity slipped out comically from her lips. "I drank too much."

"Evidently," Scorpius knelt down and gently combed aside her hair. "Come on, we'll get you cleaned up outside."

She nodded and her fingers gripped his as she rose shakily to her feet. Upon placing her weight on her heels, though, she swayed and Scorpius reacted instantly, knowing what was coming next—

"Don't fall asleep!" he shouted, but she folded inwards like a paper mache doll, and slid into unconsciousness.

Scorpius swore as the weight of Chantal collapsed on him. He shuffled forward, grunting with effort as her heels dragged on the floor. Then, suddenly, he felt the weight lessen, as though someone had pulled up Chantal's legs. Blowing strands of hair out of his face, he peered over Chantal's sequin-stitched shoulder and nearly dropped the girl entirely.

"Shut it," panted Rose before he had the chance to speak. She was holding up the bottom of Chantal's calves with her hands and there were still sweat-stains on her cheeks, but her eyes reflected cool rationale. _Explain, _she expressed silently to him. And Scorpius smiled.

AAA.

**11:40 PM**

**Al **

"I'm sorry." Carpathia took long, shuddering breaths. "I couldn't keep it a secret any longer."

_No. _

Al swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. The languid, peaceful haze from earlier cleared instantly, as if he'd been hit by a sobriety charm. His first instinct was to look at Isabel, his beautiful Isabel, and she stared back, the whites of her eyes mirroring the paleness in her cheeks.

"Al, it's not true," she whispered. Her hands were clasped in front of her, hands he had held and touched for the last two years. He'd been so damn happy the moment she'd said yes to him, as if he had finally done something right. "You know how I feel about James."

That was all he needed. He snapped back and regarded Carpathia, whose flushed, maddened expression conveyed the last final break on turbulent ground.

Her face fell before he even spoke. "Al," said Carpathia, her voice hitching, "Believe me."

He supposed some part of him did. She looked so earnest and heartbroken that there was no possibility of faking it. But some part of Al also had seen Carpathia's lack of judgment in people and another part of him, the majority of him, was livid over what his friendship with Carpathia had done to him.

"_No_," he forced out, "I can't. We're done, alright? We're done."

AAA.

**11:38 PM**

**Louis**

"Do you hear that?"

They were in a closet filled with knocked over, empty glass bottles. Most likely storage for tomorrow's clean-up crew. Amidst the constant thump of the electro beat outside, Louis caught the shrill shriek of what was undeniably Carpathia's angry tones cutting into the air:

"_Because she cheated on you with James!" _

The arms that encircled him loosened. "Blimey. Is that…?"

Louis gently detached himself and peered through the crack in the doorway. There was a commotion outside; two figures standing head-to-head, or was it three? He recognized Carpathia's white gown.

"We've got to go." Louis hiked up his trousers and zipped the front. He heard his companion inhale sharply.

"I, er…"

"It's alright," said Louis gently, turning to face him. The bloke was just a few centimeters taller than him, but he seemed to shrink under his gaze. "We'll figure this out later." Louis slipped his shirt on over his head and paused before he pushed open the door and dragged reality back in. "Don't forget your sword."

AAA.

**11:42 PM **

**Al**

The astonishment splayed over Carpathia's face for an instant, and then hardened as though someone had poured marble on her features.

"_What?" _she echoed. He could hear the fissures of bitterness and disbelief bleeding into her voice, every syllable cutting through the air like a paper knife, "You'd give up our friendship for her? For _her_, Al?" Her voice annunciated the last word in a hysterical pitch.

"It's not a friendship!" snarled Al, slamming his fist against the wall. "It hasn't been for awhile. _You're_…you don't even realize how difficult it was being your friend. All the trouble you got into. All the times I had to cover your arse and make sure you weren't lying _dead _somewhere with some _pillock_ who had daddy issues. I mean, honestly, Carpathia. What justifies you to go to such heights to _feel _something? We've all got family problems and we all want love and friendship and acceptance, but no one I know has ever abandoned _everything_ so recklessly, and for _what_?"

Was she _crying_? He could see the tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. An inner voice leapt inside him, urging his tongue to screech to a halt. _Don't do it, Al. _But he was so conflicted and so damn confused; there was simply no more room for guilt.

"I've got to think about other people in my life. Other people who don't give me an anxiety attack when they disappear or who don't sneak up on me with ulterior motives. I love you, Thia. I did. But I'm not in love with you, alright_? I never will be._ So if that's not enough for you, then just—just-" He was going to regret this. He was going to regret this and he knew it, but his own wretched mouth betrayed him. "_SOD OFF_."

The finality of what he'd said belted him to the bone like a hefty, iron hammer. He could feel the blood swimming in his head, as though he'd just clambered out of the Great Lake, and when he mustered the courage to look up, he barely caught the tail of Carpathia's tattered white dress dwindling into the darkness. A dreadful, hollow feeling descended upon him.

"_Git._"

The quiet word uttered behind him was filled with compressed incredulity and fury. Before Al could properly rotate to see who had uttered it, he caught the flash of Louis' contorted expression before a fist rose to meet him.

**11:43 PM**

**Louis**

Louis had always assumed that the first cousin he would throw a fist at was James. Not because he didn't like James, but because everything that James did warranted the high likelihood of a fistfight. Al had always been the quiet one, the sweet one, the kind one.

But Louis hated bullies, and the moment Al had uttered those words and carved up Carpathia's emotions onto a slick, silver platter, Al had become a bully. He lunged at Al, catching the flicker of bewilderment across his cousin's face, before they landed on the smooth floor, sliding several meters before coming to a stop.

"You—idiot-" seethed Louis, and something snapped behind Al's confused eyes. His face twisted, and he roared and shoved him back. Louis felt something rigid ram into his jaw.

"I'm not everyone's _bloody _pushover, do you hear me?" Al's voice staggered in pain.

There were cries of alarm around them and staggered footsteps as people attempted to skirt around them. They rolled over, attempting to exert as much force and destruction on the other, when suddenly, there was another body that broke into the din.

"What the _bloody _hell is this?" bellowed Gareth, wrenching the two of them apart. He fixed Louis with an incredulous stare, and then shot a look at Al. "Potter, what's gotten into ye?"

"Fuck off, Nott," spat Al.

"Should have heard what he said to make your sister cry," retorted Louis through gritted teeth.

That was all Gareth needed to hear. His face transformed and he grappled for Al's throat, a growl rumbling in his chest. Al instantly shielded his face with an arm, which Louis took as a golden opportunity to knee him in the thigh, prompting Al to howl in pain.

"_Oh, no you don't_! Fight!"

There was a thunderous yell, like a clanging war cry, and Louis was jammed backwards onto the cold floor, the wind flushing out of his lungs. He gasped, and found himself staring up at the hard-edged face of Scorpius Malfoy. _Where in Dumbledore's beard_ _did he come from? _

"Stupid French _twat_." His voice was laced in contempt. "You alright, Pot-" But Gareth was busy throwing punches at Al, who was blocking him at every turn while attempting to kick Gareth in the knees.

"Don't—ye—_dare—_disrespect my _sister-_"

Scorpius jaw fell quite comically as his head whipped between the two parties in confusion.

"Hang on, I don't—who's fighting who-"

"_Impedimenta_!"

Jets of purple light shot towards them and split them apart like dominos, causing the four of them to ricochet off the walls of the corridor and slam onto the ground.

Lance the club-owner strode towards them, his lustrous magenta robes dangling from his warm-arm, which was pointed directly at Scorpius' forehead. "Out. _Out_. I don't care who ye are. Ye caused 'nuff trouble. _Out_ with ye." His moustache quivered in rage, and the enormous bouncers from earlier circled around Lance and picked up the boys by the scruff of their clothes as if they were sacks of meat.

**Midnight: **

"…_and stay out_!"

The wizard in purple robes belted out his last warnings before slamming the door shut behind him.

They stood outside the club, facing the neon sign that read 'Kneazle' while the etching of the animal in question slinked back and forth almost tauntingly at them. The music continued to hum and pulse inside.

None of the boys dared to look at one another. Al's knuckles were bleeding. So was Louis' nose. Gareth sported a scratch down from the top of his temple all the way down to his chin.

"So," the word strung out of Scorpius after minutes of silence, "Care to explain what the hell happened?"

There was staleness to the air that was broken only by Al's heavy breathing. Gareth let out a disgruntled mutter and walked off in the opposite direction, hands stiff by his gleaming gladiator suit. Louis continued to glare holes into the pavement.

Scorpius tentatively reached out towards Al, whose face was drawn and ashen. As the other boy registered the movement, he quickly snapped to attention and shoved away Scorpius' hand.

"I don't want to talk." The words came out tense and abrupt.

"I-"

"Where did _you _go, anyway?" Al cut in bitterly, and then he shunted past Scorpius before he had a chance to speak, his long, loping gait casting a shadow as he walked across the moonlit pavement towards the stack of Portkeys that would take him back to Hogwarts.

AAA.

"He asked that?"

"Yes."

"And then what did you say?"

"Nothing, of course. We took our Portkeys back to Hogwarts and the sod passed out as soon as he got to his bed. Gareth hasn't returned, which is just as well, because the whole trip was so bloody awkward I would have rather sat through a trial at Wizengamot than go through _that _again."

"Shh. You'll wake him up."

"I doubt even ten Cheering Charms would get the poor bastard out of bed."

"And you have no idea what happened?"

"No. He wouldn't say, though I reckon we'll find out soon enough."

There was a silence. The moonlight streaming in through the top of the emerald bed curtains created an ethereal halo to the space where they lay.

His breath hitched. "How are you feeling?"

There was a warm, soft pressure on his abdomen as Rose rolled over and placed her hands on his chest, her hair softly brushing against his chin. Her features and the color of her hair faded against the silver light, almost disappearing entirely, but to Scorpius she looked perfect.

"Like I'm about to pay the piper with a head-splitting hangover tomorrow. Thank you for letting me sleep here. And lending me a shirt."

He touched her cheek with one solitary finger. "We won't tell anyone about this."

"No." She leaned in and kissed him. "We won't."

**AAA. **

**AAAAAAAAAND that's all I'm going to leave you off with. **

**I'm sure all of you are burning with questions over that abrupt ending—all will be explained soon enough. **

**This was a LONG chapter, so I'm assuming I get more reviews (?) (fair assumption?) **

**As always, I welcome any feedback and questions you might have. Hope you enjoyed! **

**Love, **

**MissusWitch**


	19. Interlude: 11:40 Onwards

**Hello. Early update as promised. **

**Special thanks to a new follower, Noone297, for the PM. Great to hear feedback, as always **

**I really enjoyed writing this short little one explaining the last section of the previous chapter. Not much left to be said, so enjoy. **

**AAA.**

**Interlude – 11:40 Onwards **

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its Next Gen characters belong to JKR; I just tinker-tanker. _

AAA.

_How did we get here? _

As Rose felt the sharp end of Chantal's heel dig into her shoulder, she absorbed the incredulity of the situation. If anyone had told her three years ago that one day she and Malfoy would be working together to clean up an unconscious Chantal Gerhardt outside a seedy, muggle club, she would have told them to swallow some pepper-up and bugger off.

Chantal's head lolled over and her hair spilled across his Scorpius' face, causing him to swear vehemently. The sight of his mouth suddenly full of caramel-colored extensions prompted Rose to burst out laughing.

He caught her eye, his face straining with effort against the weight of his passed-out ex-girlfriend. "This isn't funny."

_No. It's downright hilarious. _

With some luck, they managed to find a bench that wasn't covered in pigeon droppings, overlooking a section of the main road. The lamplight buzzed above them and flickered on and off. Thankfully, it was mostly quiet, save for the occasional car whizzing by that would puncture the silence.

"She's got to lie face-down," instructed Rose, and Scorpius shot her a look that said, '_I've done this before'_. She closed her mouth, silenced, and the two of them lay Chantal's limp body on the wooden surface. The girl moaned slightly at the disturbance and Rose grimaced as drool leaked out from the corner of her mouth.

"'_ereee _you go," she murmured, gingerly placing Chantal's head over her lap and making sure it was turned sideways so that her mouth faced the pavement. The girl's soft hair spilled over the edge of the bench. Scorpius took a seat next to Rose, lifting Chantal's legs momentarily and then placing them over his thighs as if they acted as a safety bar.

They sat wordlessly for several moments, now fully aware how comical they looked—sitting next to one another while an unconscious girl lay sprawled over the both of them—and when they finally dared to look at each other, the laughter bubbled over their lips and spilled out into the night.

Rose had never witnessed Scorpius laugh as genuinely as he did then. His face underwent a transformation. The hard lines of calculation and pride dissolved and carved new wrinkles around his smile. His eyes sparkled with never-before-seen emotion as if someone had thrust open the windows to a dusty cell. She decided this was a welcome change.

"So Weasley," he said, his chest heaving as he attempted to settle himself. The use of her surname and the formality in his voice was odd, especially considering that they had just engaged in what Rose had decreed as one of the best snogs in her life, "What now?"

AAA.

No one knew where to begin, really. Their memories were dotted with inconsistency, from snide conversations in between classrooms to hexes cast furiously at one another to discreet glances and hands brushing by firelight. How did one start a conversation about a relationship that had undergone so much polarity? There were other factors too-ego, bloodlines, and social expectations; no wonder it was so damn difficult to figure out what all this meant, what _they _meant.

She broke the silence. "What happened that day?"

He shifted. "You mean the day you decided to opt for a career as an Obliviator?"

"Yes." _Supposedly. _

"I lost my memories. That's not a lie, that really happened." He hastened to add, "In the beginning, you might have had better luck getting an answer out of a three-year-old than the shadow of a person left in my state. But the spell wasn't as potent as Astrakhan presumed, and I started to remember around…well, I suppose it was when we jumped into the lake. Reckon the cold water kick-started my memory. One by one, in a matter of seconds, I could recognize certain things—who I was, who youwere. It was like waking up from a dream but the whole experience was…_bizarre. _I was caught between myself and this other me, the one without my memories, and that poor bloke had no control over what he was feeling, especially towards…"

He stopped, and the word that was meant to fill the blank resonated between them. _You. _

He continued in acid tones. "And you believed me. Merlin, you _liked _me. I had to take advantage of the situation, even if it was a lie."

"You kissed me."

"Yes."

"You wanted to?"

There was a pause, and he said quietly, "More than anything."

She continued on, with slightly more effort, "So you went back and told Astrakhan there was no need to take the antidote, and you carried on pretending like you had no idea what had happened even though you did remember. You remembered everything."

"Yes."

"Did Al know anything about this?"

"No. That's not to say he wouldn't give it a rest. Stubborn prat."

"Why did you lie, Malfoy?"

"Because…." Pause. "Because I couldn't quite understand my own emotions." Her silence felt reproachful, as though she couldn't accept that for an answer. He exhaled. "Bloody hell, Weasley, you know what we were to each other. Half the time I still wanted to hex you every time your opened your mouth, and the other half of the time I would have been glad to drag you to the nearest broom closet and snog you to death. Baffling, as you can imagine."

"And there was Chantal."

"Yes." His voice was heavy now. Tired. "There was her."

Rose placed a gentle hand on Chantal's face, feeling the girl's hot cheeks pulse as the girl continued to sleep. "How did the two of you start going out anyway?"

"She wasn't my girlfriend." A snort slipped out of Rose's lips as she recalled the countless occasions they'd all heard him say this. "Her father is a respectable lawyer and the Gerhardts have represented the Malfoys in court a number of times. Our families became close, and then Chantal was forced to leave Beauxbatons because…"

The sentence halted rigidly. "No. I won't say. It's her private business." Pause. "At any rate, she was in a troubled state when I first met her. She needed a friend and over time, I suppose, I became more to her than that. I liked her—no, _admired _is a better word.

"We did try to date. After awhile she was persistent on wanting more, and every time I attempted to put my foot down, she had a knack of making me see things her way. A master of manipulation, you might say, which was charming until it wasn't. She and I…" He struggled to find the words. "We understood each other well—too well, and that was the problem."

"She didn't deserve to have you going off and snogging other girls."

"I didn't deserve to be kept around as a pretty-boy plaything for her entertainment."

"That's _not _what she felt for you. Agrippa, I can't believe I'm saying this, but I feel sorry for her."

"Don't." His voice was sharp. "I wasn't just a slimy git, Weasley. I cared for her and I still do, in a way that most people don't understand. I just…couldn't do it anymore."

"Just like that?"

His tone softened. "I had a better reason."

"What?"

"I already told you."

Silence.

He reached out and touched her gingerly on the arm. "I don't pretend that I was a saint in all this, but if there is a time to say it, then it's now. I genuinely like you, Weasley. Merlin, that doesn't even begin to cover it. I…" He took a deep, shuddering breath and his voice lowered. "I think you're incredible."

She stared at him, the seconds ticking by. And then, with careful precision, she blurted out:

"_Bollocks_."

AAA.

Scorpius wasn't quite sure he'd heard right.

"_Sorry_?" His jaw hung incredulously.

She laughed and the sound, lovely as it was, contained a tinge of mockery. "You think I'm _incredible_? Don't make me vomit."

He stiffened and slowly rose to his feet, taking great care not to disturb Chantal. He looked as if he were considering heading back to the club, but then he turned around, and towered over her, his expression livid.

"You're a snob, Weasley. You're fine with poking fun at my pureblood tendencies and my icicle of a personality, but you—you're _something_, aren't you?" His sneer reappeared, only this time it contained nothing of the self-assured arrogance that was regularly present. He seemed quite violently shaken. "I've done nothing but share my feelings in a manner that I've never done for anyone else. _Anyone _else."

Then he paused, and added bitterly, "And with _you _of all people."

She threw her hands up, her face twisting triumphantly. "Ah, there it is."

"What?"

"You." She jabbed her finger at him. "You've never shown me any respect."

"Not _bloody _true."

"Isn't it?" She fired back. "Let's see. From the first time we met, you've had me on the receiving end of a never-ending list of insults—banshee, know-it-all, frizzy-haired cow, whatever you can think of—I've heard it _all _from you, Malfoy. Now I know I'm not stupid, but you always wanted me to think that I was, didn't you? Never mind that I was always top of the class along with you, you never could give me credit when it was due. Constantly accusing me of cheating or foul play. I still haven't forgotten when you knocked over my potion during a bloody exam!"

"I was _twelve_."

"And Quidditch. Oh Quidditch. I don't know how many bumps and bruises I've gotten from you over all the times you played your sly tricks and loopholes whenever Hopkirk wasn't watching."

"Right. Says the Gryffindor on the team that poisonedour entire reserve in our fourth-year."

"That's not the worst part. I can forgive the whole memory loss episode and the fact that you carried on going out with someone while stringing me along at the same time. The worst part is _this_…" She leaned forward and her voice trembled. "Even now, as you're standing there pouring out all your so-called secrets, you're still lying to me."

"I'm not."

"Then explain to me why you're still sleeping around."

"Sleeping around? I haven't even-"

"I saw you!" She shouted, her hands wringing in the air. "I saw the stain on your neck. Explain to me, then, why up until barely _forty-eight hours ago_ you and Selma were getting extremelyfriendly."

Scorpius opened his mouth, and then closed it, resembling a goldfish caught out of water. "That…was an accident."

"Oh, pardon me for not realizing. Did you bump neck-first into a door that just happened to be wearing bright red lipstick?"

"You always think the worst of me, don't you?"

"I don't think. I happen to be _right_."

"It was her _grandmother_," retorted Scorpius, and his eyes held a dark, angry haze. "Her grandmother had just passed away and I happened to walk by the prefect's room just as she was reading the letter."

A palpable silence descended upon them. Rose's hands dropped back to her lap.

"I thought I'd offer my condolences, and maybe—I don't know_-_in the midst of her crying all over me I might have forgotten to make a quick excursion to the _powder room _to _check my reflection_."

He shook his head in disbelief. "You're unbelievable. The problem isn't my lack of respect for you. The problem is your lack of _trust_." He spat out the last word. "You should have stayed with Carter McLaggen."

Silence again.

"I'm sorry." Rose's voice was hoarse. "I jumped to conclusions."

A moan stirred from Chantal, prompting both of them to jump. _"Mmf. Je me sens mal…_" The girl rolled over on Rose's lap, opening her eyes blearily. "_Pourquoi_…?"

"You better take her back," said Scorpius tonelessly, his eyes sliding away from Rose. "I've got to go check where Gareth is."

"I don't know how to get into the Slytherin-"

"Dungeons. There's a statue of Ravolo Slytherin next to the tapestry of Arvuld the Giant. The password is _potentia vero_."

"Malfoy, can we talk about-"

"I said everything I had to, Weasley. So did you."

And with that, he walked off.

AAA.

_Potentia vero. _Truth is power.

The statue of Ravolo Slytherin nodded and the wall behind him slid open, revealing the entrance of the Slytherin Common Room. It was not quite what Rose had envisioned. There was a geometric, clean-cut elegance to the room that vastly contrasted that of Gryffindor. Smooth, black tiles, forest-green armchairs, and a soft, crackling fireplace…she had imagined impenetrable, blocky stones and manacles hanging from the wall, remnants of Hogwart's ancient, bloody past. Yet another thing she'd been sorely wrong about.

Chantal clung to Rose, still mumbling to herself, and Rose whispered, "Nearly there." She wasn't quite sure if Chantal recognized the pathway to the girl's dormitories, or whether Chantal had even realized that _Rose _was the one chaperoning her home. To her surprise, the girl pulled herself upright, rotated on the spot, and faced Rose with a weariness that looked like death.

"_That _isfar enough," she mumbled. It was the closest Rose was going to get to a thank you. She raised her eyebrows in question and Chantal nodded drowsily. Then, she turned and lumbered towards a black marble archway on the right side of the room, her black pumps dangling by her fingers.

There was a faint glimmer of red in the darkness and then a clang resounded, signaling that Chantal had vacated the premises. Rose stood alone in the dim, spacious common room, feeling exhausted and yet deeply perturbed. She knew she ought to have started heading back to her own room, but the image of Scorpius' aggrieved expression crept up on her like an itch under her skin, and she found herself being steered by her own two feet to a marble archway opposite of the one under which Chantal had disappeared to.

She knew instantly by the effervescent scent of freshly done laundry and pumpkin soup that this was the boy's dormitory. Quietly she crept by the closed doors, reading the letters that had been engraved into the wood in silver: "_First", "Second", "Third"_. On the seventh or eighth door she stopped. "_Sixth" _it read. The door was left open, as if no one was inside.

She entered and the certainty that this was Al's room—and Scorpius'—washed over her. She could spot the enormous poster of the Holyhead Harpies—Aunt Ginny's team—pasted on the emerald wallpaper. Al's glasses lay on the nightstand, next to a copy of Quidditch weekly and a half-eaten cracker that was crushed by several textbooks.

Al was clearly the messiest occupant in the room, followed closely by Gareth Nott—whose place was easy to spot by the countless pairs of socks scattered over his bed, each embedded with the Nott crest at the ankle. Lucas was the neatest and most unguarded. His bedsheets was perfectly folded to the slightest crease, and his four-poster curtains parted completely for everyone to see. Then, of course…

She paused, the backs of her hair prickling as the revelation hit her that what she was doing might be considered intrusive. Every aspect of Scorpius' living space indicated towards his affinity for secrecy. The bed curtains were completely closed and his nightstand was bare, save for a few sheets of parchment and a black leather wallet. She walked over to the nightstand, her feet shuffling over the carpet, and her eyes made out the first few lines of writing on the topmost sheet of parchment.

_To Whom it May concern: _

_My name is Scorpius Malfoy,_

_My name is Scorpius, and I am writing on behalf of my interest to join the Auror Early Acceptance Program in my final year at Hogwarts. I understand that my letter has come early, but I hope_

She stopped reading then. _Lack of trust. _Scorpius' heated words echoed in her mind and she found herself unable to swallow a wave of emotion that had risen up from within her. When she touched her cheeks, she discovered that they were wet. _I was wrong, so wrong…_

How long Rose waited, she wasn't quite certain. The next moment came to her as a sudden banging and uneven footsteps that yanked her to consciousness. _Merlin_! Her hand clutched her chest as the door flew open and the sound of two voices, one sharp and the other barely conscious, permeated the room. _They were back. _She realized at some point during the night, she had pulled aside Scorpius' bed curtains and dozed off on his bed.

"You're definitely going to feel that in your liver tomorrow, Potter." Her heart thudded in her chest as she heard his discontented voice through the curtains barely meters away. _Oh god. _Was he going to be furious that she'd snuck in and raided his privacy? She could see his silhouette through the burst of white light that radiated from his wand.

"Oi, you awake?" Scorpius called out. She heard Al groan, and then there was a thump of a body falling onto a soft surface and a mutter of something obscene. Scorpius chuckled softly. "Poor bastard. _Nox._"

The light extinguished itself. She heard his footsteps tread toward her and her heart sped up instantly. When he drew open the curtains, she got up instantly to her knees, parting her mouth to explain. There was a clatter as his wand fell to the floor.

AAA.

"I'm sorry." Rose's voice wavered but she looked surprisingly determined. "I put Chantal to bed and then, um, curiosity killed the cat."

Scorpius thought for a moment that his eyes might have bulged out of their sockets. Quickly he pulled the bed-curtains shut and climbed onto the mattress, taking great care not to upset the balance between them.

"Well," he said, keeping his voice hushed. "Usually when a girl surprises me in my bed I try to ensure Potter knows about it, but I reckon this time I'll make an exception."

She nodded and inched backwards to allow him more room. He settled warily into cross-legged position across from her. "What are you doing here?"

She looked at him wordlessly. Without another second's thought, she closed the distance between them, her arms clasping the back of his head and her lips colliding with his. Scorpius inhaled sharply, his own words clearly forgotten. For a few long moments they held each other, not daring to move. Then, his arm closed around her waist and slowly, so that they wouldn't make a sound, they fell down together and pressed into the mattress. She lay almost on top of him, her legs in between his own, her nose touching his.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, and in that moment, the words contained all the sincerity she could muster. "Truly I am. I've only been able to see the bad and none of the good. You called me names and that only made me stronger. You never let me win anything and that made me want to win all the more. You helped me become a better person because you _are _a better person, better in the way that you've dealt with your life and made me grateful for mine. And even though you've lied and hurt people, I can understand that it was only because you were scared, just as I am scared now."

His throat bobbed as she pressed her lips to his again, and she emitted a small chuckle against his mouth.

They broke apart. "You really think I'm incredible?" She said this with soft incredulity.

"_Merlin,_ Weasley." His voice was rough with emotion. "I lost my memories all because you were furious with me."

"I suppose that's as good of a reason as any."

"You have to understand that the only reason why I'd ever sock McLaggen in the mouth is because…" His blue eyes fixed on her unfalteringly. "I think that you are far too clever, too kind, and too bloody incredible for him or _anyone_ else_. _I respect the hell out of you, Rose Weasley."

The way he said her name made her ears tingle with pleasure.

_How did we get here? _

If anyone had told her three years ago that one night she and Malfoy would be lying in his bed, their bodies coiled like tree-vines around one another, looking at each other the way they did now, she would have flat-out hexed them all the way to the Hospital Wing, possibly without their memories.

She prodded his cheek gently. "I hope you know this means that I'm staying over tonight."

His mouth quirked. "I'll lend you a shirt."

And then they stayed in each other arms till the sun rose, happy that they had finally figured out what they meant to each other.

AAA.

**With love, **

**~MissusWitch**


End file.
